It was, as last year, a welcome respite from The Daily Grind, with naught to do but relax, eat, and go watch the races. Herself is particularly fond of observing the pit stops. There's something fascinating about the efficiency and speed of the pit crews: they resemble highly evolved ants in their matching uniforms, with their coordinated tasks and motions. And the people watching is fascinating - such a slice of humanity. Herself enjoyed the occasional Adult Beverage, and some very good games of Scrabble. It was good.
Although she had a good time, this trip was, for an unknown reason, a little difficult for Herself. She's not sure if she was additionally sensitive, or if everything was just a bit more this time. The sun was stronger (she managed to achieve a slight sunburn on her back and shoulders through her shirt one day); the dust was more persistent; and people were omnipresent. She could not keep up in the crowds. Although the food was tasty, it was more difficult than usual to determine what was headache-inducing and what was not, and the end result was more headache than usual. And there were so many fire crackers and unexpected noises. Everything was dialed up one extra notch. It was on the edge of Too Much for her.
She could not bring herself to try to gather strength from her Safe People. There was no way to explain to them that she was bordering Sensory Overload without showing herself to be needy and weak. Plus, they had their own agendas and goals. They certainly were entitled to enjoy their vacations without feeling as though they needed to help her. She's an adult. She should be able to look after herself. And so, she tried to look after their comfort, for to do so gave her a focus that allowed her to push her own discomfort into the background. She tried to find moments of unobtrusive physical contact with them when possible, for solace. It was tricky.
There was no true respite.
On the way home -- an interminably long drive, a full two hours longer than her 6-hour tolerance for being in the car -- they stopped at The Thing, a cheesy roadside attraction in Dragoon, Arizona. While Beloved Husband took a work-related phone call, Herself walked on the edge of the parking lot. It was dusk, and the quiet, far-reaching landscape and the whisper of the wind brought some of the consolation she needed at last.
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Back at home, Herself has sorted the mail and paid the bills, emptied the camper-trailer, and started the laundry. Her world is back in order. She'll go off to work shortly, then take the three-toothed dog to the vet for a follow up appointment, visit the grocery store, and have the pleasure of making her own dinner. Everything is falling back into order. It is good.
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