I don't think I'm going to be blogging much about the details of my vacation. For one thing, between the journal I was keeping, the photo captions and the pair of short stories I've been working on, most of the stories I want in writing are already there, or getting there. This, however, does not apply to talking about it, and I'm pretty sure I'll be annoying the crap out of everyone in six months when every other conversation I have still somehow works back to "When I was in Europe ..."

It took me a couple of days after I returned to figure what was so strange about being home again -- I didn't have anyone to talk to. Which is not to say that I'm all lonely and sad now, it's just that I can't remember the last time I had that many days in a row constantly in someone else's company. Even when I go home (and it's been a while since I've gone home for as long as this vacation was), I usually have a morning here or there where I'm left to my own devices. I like my alone time, but it was kind of nice to have a vacation from that, too.

Our last night in Prague, Sus and I were having a picnic dinner and discussing our trip, when Sus said "I think I like taking a trip like this every five years."

I pointed out that it had actually been almost ten years since either of us had taken an international vacation. "Yeah," she said, "but it's not going to be ten years before the next one."

I guess I should make sure I renew my passport when it expires next spring, then.