I Hate Vacations

I’m taking the week off.

I think I needed it. Five funerals last month. Impossible tasks looming in front of me. A couple of people wanting to start a fight with me and I’m feeling more than willing to engage. Very few quiet moments, and when I do find one, I start crying.  So yeah, a little time off is appropriate.

But the first day (yesterday) is a little dicey. My wife is tense and trying to finish taxes and I’ve just had the same conversation with her for the third time on something. It’s raining buckets and I can’t go outside. I get a call about a death in the community. I don’t need to do the funeral but I did need to make a visit.  And there were a couple of teenagers I needed to speak to because I was worried about them. 

Late in the night, I get a snippy email from a church member about a scheduling problem.  I wrote her that we would keep all our obligations, that I would work it out with her when I got back, and I refrained (admirably, I think) from calling her a bitch. I also sent communiqués to the secretary and a staff member, not to let themselves be stampeded by this person while I was away. 

Last night I dreamt one of their former ministers, a woman who was much beloved (I like her too) came back while I was away, and I could hear people talk of how they missed her terribly.

Then I dreamed I came back from vacation and someone had taken all of the furniture from my office.

After careful self examination, I’ve made a clinical diagnosis: I’m crazy. 

And tonight, I’m taking a valium. 

Maybe two.