I tend to be the driver of the house. By choice for me, maybe not so much for DH. I love to drive and I always have. When I was a teenager, I had silly half-dreams of becoming a race car driver.
I bring this up because I do a lot of the driving when it comes to going long’ish distances. In recent years it has been defaulted to me after DH’s eye surgery. The task has been welcomed with opened arms because, well, see above.
Anyway, the kid left for Rome tonight and I took her to the airport. I took her to the farthest airport in our region about two hours away.
DH thought it would be a good idea for me to book a hotel room and stay local to the airport. Since The Kid’s flight was late at night, it made sense as I would otherwise be arriving home well after midnight.
One thing that I have become really fond of over the years is spending time alone. Don’t get me wrong. I love spending time with my husband, family, and friends, but sometimes I just really need, as well as relish, “me” time.
I mean, I’m not sure I could do it all time, but every so often is good for the soul.
After I helped get the kid settled at the airport, honestly thinking the entire time that I just couldn’t wait to get my night going even though I would miss her dearly, I hopped in my car giddy like a child on the day she lost her first tooth.
I reserved a hotel room about ten minutes outside of where the airport was because it was well over $100 cheaper. Unfortunately, I was delayed getting to my destination because the exit was closed down and then there was traffic. I guess you can only imagine what choice words I had for the situation.
A woman scorned is not something you want to encounter, or worse yet, be the cause of. Not that there was anything I could do about the situation. But there is something so satisfying to be able to scream out loud like a crazy woman to no one in particular.
When I finally arrived and opened the door to my room, I was met with the piece de resistance — a view of NYC. I threw off my shoes, took off my clothes — particularly that bastardly bra — opened a bottle of wine, and scattered some cheese, crackers and olives on a paper plate I took from home.
I settled into the luxurious bed, and drank wine, watched a movie on Netflix from the SmartTV, and luxuriated in all the everything.
Now I sit here throwing these words together at 3AM, still drinking wine. I have the air conditioning turned to a cool 67 degrees to keep the night sweats away, and I don’t want to go to sleep because I am absolutely loving this time to myself.
I was going to take advantage of the hotel gym in the morning because I have become a little obsessed with working out. But honestly, I just want to sleep late. And by “late” I mean 8am. I want to order in room service, and chill until the very last moment I have to check out.
I am in a hotel room by myself. Let me repeat that…I am in a hotel room by myself. I am not traveling for work or going to a funeral of an old aunt. I am in a hotel room by myself because my awesome husband suggested something that was so beyond my scope of declining.
But now I’m sleepy. I’m exhausted but in a good way. And I want to sleep until 8AM. The “Do Not Disturb” sign is on the door and I will sit here in this hotel room by myself until the clock strikes 11.
The room darkening blinds are shut, the air conditioner is on low, and the blower/fan is set to remain constant for white noise.
My daughter is on her way to Rome for the experience of a lifetime, my husband is holding down fort at home, and I am in a hotel room all by myself. Life is good.
Until I have to go home and do laundry. Life calls, people. And for that I am grateful.