My pictures are all finally up from our trip to San Francisco. Since Chris and I have been home I've been doing some odd running around and mentally preparing myself for my trip to Ireland: Picked up my new eyeglasses; done some laundry; ordered some clothes and a raincoat; ordered a few things Mom and Dad have asked me to pick up for them. I'll have to do laundry again before I leave, of course, but I've begun trying to simplify what I'll be packing (hence the ordering of new clothes).
I often feel that I need a few days to recover from a vacation. No matter how much fun I have, no matter what new things I have learned and discovered, coming back home has become a relief. I don't know why this is, but being away from home for more than a week makes me nervous. No, not nervous, maybe; I don't quite know what the proper word is. While I'm looking forward to my three-and-a-half-week trip to Ireland, I'm also apprehensive about being away from home for so long. I've been to Europe quite a few times, and have managed to do a fair amount of driving up and down the East Coast and out to California, but there's always a piece of worry in the back of my mind, a worry that something bad is going to happen while I'm away, some financial issue is going to develop and become exacerbated unless I'm here to take care of it, but won't be able to because I don't know about it and can't take care of it.
It's illogical, I know; few problems pop out of nowhere and become major complications in a short period of time, but I have had a few instances in which I've gone away, come home, and something has come up - usually my fault and entirely preventable - and even though I've grown up I'm still worried about something happening.