She’s got a leaky roof, a musty smell, and chores waiting for me. Still, I missed home. Where the familiar is cozier, the night’s sleep is deeper, and the pooping heftier.
We made it. A three week road trip. Stayed each night at a hotel. Got a great sampling about the good ones v the bad ones and the weird ones between. Eve those outliers where the bathroom and bed are phenomenal, yet every other amenity is staggeringly poor. My therapy, really my coping, for enduring some of troubling hotels was to write lengthy critiques in my head, “When bringing aforementioned problem to staff’s attention, the literally morbidly obese girl put about as much effort into addressing the issue as she did her dieting strategy. Which is to say: none. Less than none. Hazardous negligence.” Constructing the sentences and such helped to maintain control and deal with the situation as I would a customer service situation. With aplomb.
Granny is safe and probably sleeping in this morning. We both felt the same way about the trip, as rejuvenating, exciting, and adventurous as it was, we were ready for home. Soon as we hit the city you could feel a shared sigh of relief. Unsaid was the readiness for separation. Don’t get me wrong, we enjoyed our time together. But when a large portion of our time is spent together, its very nice to have some time to the self. I fully budgeted more time to myself during the trip, but that budget got busted as other priorities eclipsed “me” needs. Had to problem solve last minute obstacles, small intermittent problems that would not allow one to sit and focus for more than minutes at a time, and weird emergencies like being stuck in the middle of nowhere because the goddamned remote key fob found a dead space, and, because of it, the car refused to start. I regret nothing, but the whole ordeal has certainly given me an appreciation of the opportunity for self.
Jogging ’round to here and now, what now? Well, there’s plenty to choose from. For about the past week, when nerves would jitter it would be over getting things ready and perfect for school in the fall. Little more than a month away. Now that I’m here, I find the desire to rest and recoup very desirable. Between the two choices, I’ve settled on neither. I’m responsibly procrastinating. The kind of procrastinating where one cleans house, writes blogs, and, soon, fixes busted swamp coolers. The mindless in-between that doesn’t allow for complete relaxed indulgence, but neither does it demand robotic discipline and focus. Feels like a cozy middle ground.
Soon after, I’m on to deeper projects. Just give me a moment longer. Maybe between procrastination chores, I can take a few minutes’ pause to sit and, you know, just be.