I love going to writer's conferences but hate packing, hate leaving the dog, and hate all of the preparation everything takes.
I clean the house so the lady who housesits doesn't think I'm a slob, then I prepare everything for my dog, then for myself and by then I'm exhausted and wish I'd just planned on missing this one. Then I go to conference get footsore and weary, my poor old brain gets over stimulated and I come home to a house that needs re-cleaning, a demanding dog, a pile of laundry, dry cleaning to put in, mail to attend to, banking and marketing. And, to top it all off, preparing something to submit to the agent or editor who has requested to see my work.
This time I convinced myself my manuscripts would be in perfect shape before leaving. Yet I know they aren't. If I get a request I'll be charged-up with adrenaline, I'll sit at the computer for days on end fine tuning and tweaking before submitting my work. It's how I work, so I might as well admit and deal. I'm better under pressure.
I think of vacations in terms of conferences and I think of conferences as the impetus to get the manuscript either finished or in pretty good shape. Whatever happened to just buying a few good books and heading off for a lazy time at the beach? Or hopping on a plane and going gambling and partying in Las Vegas? My life ... it's all about writing. Sigh.