Blurry-eyed, stumbling

Where to begin. I have so much in my head, so many stories from the Pacific Northwest, from Portland to Vancouver and back down again, all the way down to sunny San Jose. I spent almost two weeks traveling and it was everything it could have been: wonderful, exhausting, beautiful, fun, busy, quick, long. Spent time waiting in lines and crossing huge canyons on suspension bridges, eating in seaside restaurants stuffing myself full of Northwest oysters and native Salmon. Taking pictures, so many pictures, pictures that haven’t even made it out of my camera yet. Climbed five thousand feet to view the most magnificent mountains I’ve ever seen, purchased homemade candles, art prints, photography and shook hands with their creators at Pike Place Market. Fell in love, oh-so in love with Seattle. Saw a different kind of blue in Vancouver, purchased the most cherished handmade, leather bound notebook I will probably ever own on a tiny island known for its peace and quiet. I sat in traffic and on boats, experiencing serenity that only makes an appearance in my life once every blue moon.

So many stories. I wish I had the time for the volumes in my head. I wrote furiously, draft after draft, sculpting and crafting my experience on the parchments in my mind.

But. I returned from vacation not to my home but on a business trip, where I worked late, late into the night (where my melatonin levels were well established in Pacific Standard Time) and barely saw anything but the inside of my hotel room. I did a little driving, sightseeing, but not much, not nearly enough. I accomplished a major event by myself, a feat really, and was given one of the best professional compliments of my life.

I returned late on Friday night and still – still I am not fully recovered from my adjustment onto West coast time. The sun sets here and rises again and I still don’t feel fully rested. And this week – it is the week before the biggest event of the year in our industry and the office is buzzing. I worked almost 10 hours today and didn’t stop, not once, not even to take more than 3 bites of soup.

So the pictures, the stories – they’ll have to wait. While I prepare to jet across the country yet again, in a little over a week. My suitcase sits on the floor, waiting to be repacked. And the stories etch themselves into my skin…waiting.