I am going away for 48 hours by myself.

Aaaahhhh.

I know, you are jealous. It sounds heavenly. Blissful.  Relaxing. The world is my oyster etc.

Here is what I hear, "YOU ONLY HAVE 48 HOURS!!! DON'T F*** IT UP!!!"

I might miss out on something.
I might choose the wrong restaurant.
I might miss a friend I really wanted to see.
I might pack the wrong shoes and then my feet will be cold and wet as I trudge through the streets.
I might not get to do everything I want to do.
There might be a better restaurant/show/movie/bar/store somewhere around the corner.

There is something about a vacation that creates pressure to enjoy it all. Creates pressure to not miss out on a single thing.

What is it? Just my insanity? My own special brand of crazy? Maybe. Probably.

Maybe it is the fact that it is an investment. Somewhat of a time commitment. Why spend three hours seeing a movie in a vacation city when you can see a movie in your own town? Do something you can't do at home.

Maybe it is the financial commitment. However large or small, it is an aberration from a regular budget. It better feel good, but not be too extravagant.

Maybe it's the guilt of being alone. I'm creating a burden for the hubs who is watching the kids while I galavant and frolic all by myself.  I better enjoy it because I've been freed of my duties. Don't waste your time doing something stupid that you could have done with him.

It would be nice to be the kind of person who can just fly by the seat of her pants, even while I am on vacation. But I'm OK with the fact that I am not that kind of girl.

So I will plan out my time wisely, research my shoe choices and harass everyone I know about restaurants. And that will be how it goes.

If I feel like it...