My lovely weekend away has ended.  I am back home amidst the chaos that is my own room.  I am buried beneath two down comforters and one denim quilt.  And I don’t want to be here.

A few years ago I went to the UK. London was great, and York was wonderful, but when I stepped off the train in Edinburgh I felt like I had come home.  It was the craziest feeling.  I had never been in Scotland before.  I still don’t understand why being there felt so right.  We only had a couple of days to spend in Scotland before we had to leave for Dublin.  When the time came to leave, I got angry.  That didn’t make sense to me either.  The itinerary was not a surprise.  We booked our Ryanair flight before we ever left the States.  I was looking forward to seeing Dublin, land of my forefathers and all.  But something in me did not want to leave Scotland.  I knew I was acting like a brat, but that’s the way it was.  My entire being was ticked that I had to leave and go somewhere else.

I have the same feeling now.  I just did not want to come home.  Okay, I was in Florida recently, and I didn’t want to come home after that, either, but that was totally about the weather.  Who wants to trade 80 degree days for a snowstorm? But this time it just felt wrong to leave.  And I’m acting like a brat again.

The weekend was not what I expected it to be.  I was looking forward to a weekend of living it up – going out on the town, exploring some of the tourist destinations, catching up with acquaintances, getting in a couple of runs – and none of that really happened.  There was a quick lunch with a friend of a friend, two drinks at a great little bar (one on the rooftop!), and an evening of dancing, but the majority of the weekend was spent hanging out at my friend’s apartment.

I was feeling under the weather, and between the cold medicine and the weather pattern that went from warm and sunny to an unexpected snowfall, I didn’t want to do much of anything.  So we just hung out.  We watched a lot of TV.  I am now hooked on 30 Rock – I don’t even remember the last time I laughed so much at a TV show – and once again thinking about mastering modern video game controllers.  I also took many meaningful naps.  We shared some great pizza, some decent Chinese, and some really good conversation.

The weekend completely derailed, and I couldn’t have enjoyed it more.  I would normally be aggravated that I bought a plane ticket for the vague purpose of exploring a city I would like to live in and never really saw any of it.  In fact, I’m not really sure why I’m not.  I am the neurotic person who likes to have a plan so I don’t have to worry about anything.  We had no plan, and I still didn’t worry about anything.

Maybe it’s a reminder that slowing down isn’t such a bad thing.  Maybe it’s a reminder that I don’t have to allot every minute of my day.  And maybe it’s a reminder that it’s the people I spend my time with who matter.  Or maybe I’m making too much of it, and I’m just going through 30 Rock withdrawal.  I’m not really good at sorting these things out.  I start to worry that I’m blurring cause and effect, and I make myself more than a little crazy with all the self-analysis.

Maybe all I can do right now is acknowledge that I had a great weekend.  And look for season 3.