I should write about Savannah. It’s already starting to fade into the dense thick jungle of my memory. The monkey in my brain is scratching it’s head, eating a banana and wondering where he put the Savannah file.
Poor Stephanie is already back at her job working as if nothing happened. She’s making status updates of how dreary the day is and how much it sucks to be back to reality.
For me, the vacation was like an ice cream sandwich. Ice cream wedged between two slices of southern deep-fried crap. But the ice cream was good.
The first slice of crap was served to us on the car ride there. We left Cheshire at six in the morning on Saturday and arrived at our destination 23 hours and 10 bathroom breaks later. Ten of those 23 hours were spent in bumper to bumper traffic. I’m so happy none of us had our period.
My Mother called me every hour because she was scared we might run into tornado’s. When she called, she would give me the latest weather update’s in states that I wasn’t even near. I was annoyed, but my friends wanted me to put her on speaker so they could hear her talk about the group of tornado’s following our car.
Me – “What do you want me to do if I run into a tornado? Call you while I’m spinning around in mid-air?”
I was beyond tired, but couldn’t fall asleep. I was anxiously content, if that makes any sense. I was jumpy. Easily rattled at that point. But still happy I was out of my house for a week.
We ran into tornado traffic. We left the day after a bunch of tornado’s ripped through the Carolina’s. We drove past a house split in two with it’s owner outside just staring at the wreckage. It wasn’t a fabulous house to begin with, but still. It was one of those highway houses. A sporadically placed home surrounded by nothing, built to face the highway like it was a gas station welcoming car’s at it’s door.
Whenever we drove by one of these houses, I would think about a family driving down the highway and running out of gas. The Dad announces, “Well, this is it kids. The end of the line. Everybody out and let’s make us a home cause we aint goin’ any further.”
That’s not too far from the truth. Gas prices are up to $4.07 in some places.
I didn’t want to drive because it was Tara’s new car and I wasn’t sure on how much of a backseat driver she was, or how nervous she would be in entrusting me with the keys. So I sat quietly trying not to drudge up the fact that I wasn’t offering my services.
Eventually I had to bone up. We were approaching two or three in the morning and we were all tired. I started reading highway billboard signs without fully understanding their meaning’s.
“Vet’s for pet’s? Why would anyone want to keep a vet for a pet? Is it backwards world?” The sign was for veterinarians attending to your pets, but I couldn’t wrap my head around that concept. That’s when I got asked to drive.
I plugged my headphones into my iPhone and listened to golden oldies on Pandora radio the whole time I drove. I Belted out old song’s to keep me focused. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I bought myself a pepsi and drank just enough to keep me awake, but not enough where I would have to pee. It was a delicate balance.
I don’t know what else to write about the road trip there. It feels like forever ago and all the fun stuff that happened after, smeared away the deep fried crap portion of the trip.
I’m tired, I have to sleep. I’ll try to write about the rest of the trip tomorrow.