Needing a Vacation

I feel a little bit like a bent blade of grass, smashed from the tread of heavy foot traffic. This is what traveling does to me. A seven-hour drive to the Grand Canyon. Three days of being stuffed into a small tent-trailer at the base of Grand Canyon Airport, with helicopter tours and planes taking off at ungodly hours of the day. One day of huddling inside the close quarters of the camper under nothing but solid rain and hail, thunder and lightening. Turn around. Seven hours back. A whirlwind weekend of laundry, errands, unpacking to get my brain uncluttered enough to figure out what needs to be repacked for the next trip, and then the repacking. A two-hour drive down to my brother and sister-in-law's place for a one-night sleepover. Wake up, hop on the plane, and fly two hours to Portland. A one-hour jaunt into Hillsboro. Three little busy bees in tow. And I am pooped. It's going to take at least a week to recover from the last vacation. Good thing we're going to be here for three. I'm needing a vacation from the vacation.