Now, don't misunderstand, I am not a bad tourist. I am very good at being away from home. In fact, I am very much looking forward to this particular trip (I am going to the Pop Culture Association conference). It will be the first time that I've left my daughter overnight since I stopped breastfeeding--no pumping, no tiny feet to the ribs when she inevitably joins us in the bed in the middle of the night. Of course, I'm going to miss my daughter. She is amazing--especially right now when she's discovering so many new things and being so active and exploratory. But--and this is one of the things I am good at--I know that there are many parts to my soul. The part that is fed by little baby hugs and sweet babbling (and it's a big part) is nourished. The part that is fed by uninterrupted baths and the silence of an early morning hotel room in a city I've never been to is a looking little haggard these days. Tomorrow it shall feast.
But first, I have to travel. And I am not good at it. I've mentioned before that I don't handle time all that well. I am incredibly punctual, but not in a oh-look-at-me-just-showing-up-here-right-on-time kind of way (are there people who are punctual in that way? are you robots?) but in the I-stressed-over-every-moment-leading-up-to-this-one-and-now-I-have-to-seem-calm kind of way. And traveling, well, traveling brings out the worst in my flaw. I like cushions in my time. I want to be able to have a (minor) emergency and still stay on track. But traveling doesn't let me. Traveling gives me layovers to catch, subway trains leaving a mere ten minutes after one drops me off, and unforeseen setbacks in a new environment. The planner in me gets a little overwhelmed.
All that rambling to say that I'm going to be away for a bit. I might get a chance to check in and talk about the conference, but if not, I'll be back sometime this weekend.