So here's the thing about vacations - you wait for months, counting down the days, weeks, and hours until it's time to leave.
And then you are filled with anticipation during the flight - or very long road trip as it was - until you reach your destination.
You've made it! You can smell the salty sea breeze and hear the waves crashing on the shore.
And for the first day or so time moves at a leisurely pace. You wake up with the sunrise (or at least you do at the Outer Banks) and you sip your coffee on the deck of your beach house as you watch dolphins play in the surf.
Seafood is consumed by the bucket. Drinks of the day are made. Suntans are earned. Seashells are collected.
And then JUST LIKE THAT it's the day before your last day and you try in vain to fit in EVERYTHING you need or want to do.
And BAM! The vacation you waited a year for is over. Done. Finished. One for the memory books.
The suitcases are packed. The cars are packed. Tears are shed. And you drive away from your beach house starting the countdown for the next time you get to call that house "home" for a week.
And now, it's time for the vacation hangover to start.
The drive home is long and quiet. There's no excitement in the air. The suitcases are filled with dirty laundry.
But oh the memories.
