I just attended one of my favorite conferences. Favorite because of setting, favorite because it's a great opportunity to mix and mingle with techies and librarians and learn with/from them. And they're my local peeps, so those connections can be furthered over dinners/brunches/drinks throughout the year.
Yet I resent it. Not as much as I used to, when I stayed overnight (it's a beautiful setting). Just a little, because I get home later than I usually do. Thursday I had dinner with some friends from college and they were shocked that I was driving home afterwards. I tried to reassure them that this was what I wanted to do, that staying at home was really best for my heart and mental health.
For years I used Thing Two's home upstate as an escape from Brooklyn. And I resented that. I'm eternally grateful to him for allowing me to stay for long weekends and vacations, but the fact that it was his home, not mine bothered me. It wasn't my bed. My boys weren't with me. The sounds and smells and where things were was all different from my home. And I hated that.
Yes, readers, I'm a nester. I hate leaving home. I don't want to leave on Sundays for Meeting. I don't want to spend the night with Thing One in Brooklyn. I don't want to go to my xlaw's 50th birthday party next weekend. And while I enjoy seeing the people I'll see, or the whatever the event is, it's not taking place in my home.
It's not quite as bad as being an agoraphobic, but it's (dangerously?) close.
In addition to various goings-on, and going to work and shopping and all the quotidian things we do, I have another conference in January. It's in San Diego. If only there were a way I could spend the nights at home...