Unfortunately, acting my age (which I am trying to write about) means that I can wear myself out rather thoroughly.
We spent two weeks on the road, a lot of it under the stress of the family loss I reported last week. We attended the Licensing Expo, which was overwhelming and which I am still trying to process. We drove more than 2,000 miles. We ate irregularly, though occasionally very well. We slept in strange beds and on a different schedule than we do at home.
All that added up to an old-person crash when we got home. We got back a couple days ago, and the minute we walked in we both cratered. Somehow, even when we thought we were eating and sleeping well enough, exhaustion was hiding behind the curtain of "I'm doing fine."
The most annoying part of this is that we could have pulled this off without paying the price twenty years ago. Even in our 40s and 50s we'd have been back up and running full steam the next day. However, while we thought we were doing well all the way home - "The drive has been pretty easy today," and "The hotel bed was really comfy last night," "That was a nice lunch," and "It's only been two weeks" - there was a 'gotcha!' at the end.
The bags are unpacked, laundry is washing, the cat has kind of forgiven us for abandoning her to the pampering of a house-sitter who spoiled her every day, and I am back at the computer.
But the post I was working on when I left, reflecting on what it means to "Act your age," inspired by hitting one of those milestone birthdays (not a 0 birthday, a 5) hasn't cooperated by writing itself. So it will be along in another day or two.
In the meantime, I may need a nap.