I don't really have much to say that totem isn't already saying. I guess whatever I think I've got to say is whatever word is stronger than superfluous. In the face of the River gods I guess.
However, we all know how much Alecto likes a good story so I guess I'm going to talk your ear off anyway. Start here:
660 miles to CG + 60 miles back over the mountain + 724 miles home. I'm guessing at that 60; might be off a bit. Boy am I going to pay for that last 724 miles! I get home wired six ways to hell at 12:24 and then proceed to consume enough gin to decide I don't really care much for gin but it's all I have in the house. Apparently I didn't consume much because the glass is still about 3/4 full. Pity. I didn't drag my sorry self into the bed until about 2:10 and promptly woke up at 4. I convinced myself that less than 2 hours of sleep wasn't going to cut it and made it to 6 (alarm was set for 7) before I bounced, yes you read that right, bounced out of bed, slammed the coffee and water into the appropriate receptacles and rushed downstairs to check out my guy. This guy:
I suppose it's one thing to take your kids and dog on vacation but a rooster is another thing entirely. He was meant to be eaten. He didn't get et because I grabbed the wrong rooster out of the hen house at 4:30 last Thursday morning. I tried very hard to convince myself I'd nabbed The Senator but Little Girl came home from school and had an apoplectic fit. He was spared and we ate just CG's instead which leaves Waddles and The Senator duking it out this morning. My money is on Waddles even though The Senator appears to be twice his size at the moment. Waddles is still Waddles.
He stayed crated for most of the six days although we did take the tray out of the crate so he could forage a bit. Here is the happy boy on vacation:
What you can't see is this:
He's just resting there. You can't imagine he'd have taken well to a leash can you? Best words I can come up with are HELL NO, WOMAN!!! Back in the crate. He's a bit lame this morning probably from all that crate bottom in and out and Himself not being so inclined (or just plain dumb) to get his feet out of the way.
I don't have the story in me this morning. What I do have is the dire need to find out where the cat pooped in my room last night and get it the hell out of there and then there's the requirement of going to work. On something a bit less than four hours of sleep. I'll live.
I was really tired when I left yesterday. I didn't feel particularly well and really should have had a nap prior to bugging out. What I did do was probably make one of the smartest decisions I've ever made. I hit Fancy Gap, VA about 119 miles into the drive and was contemplating two things:
- Since I can't pee in a cup in this car can I possibly pee on a towel and get away with it so I don't have to stop since God help me I don't know how the hell I'm going to make it home without passing out and crashing into one of those poor truck drivers (the truck, not the driver directly).
- Can I safely sleep on the side of the road somewhere? Breakdown lane. Very bad idea. Off some side road in East BumFck. Probably even badder idea. Other ideas? Don't generally have them.
I saw this:
and a light bulb previously unknown to exist in Alecto's head went off. Probably because I was smack dab in the middle of the Cielo family stomping grounds and one of her dead relatives (they aren't as dead as all that, now are they?) grabbed the wheel, dove across three lanes of highway and careened onto something like Frog's Crook road. Something like that.
Meanwhile Alecto has only once ever rented a hotel room for a brief brief brief period and it was 4 AM when I did it. The guy at the front desk of the just off Times Square before revival hotel handed me sheets and a four hour rate. I was alone and seriously embarrassed. (not the alone part, the assumption that I was going to more than make back the room cost)
I. Did. Not. Care. Scratch that. Cielo's dead relatives Did. Not. Care. By the time I'd been pulled off the highway and parked there were a whole bunch of them waiting for me in the parking lot. I got myself frog marched into the motel. Somebody dialed the front desk phone because who on earth expects a guest to show up at 1:30 in the afternoon? The parking lot contained a single car and it came with the motel.
Somebody pulled out my credit card and driver's license. Somebody else filled out the form. Somebody told me to simmer down and nobody was going to judge a single woman looking like she was about to fall down after somebody assured the man that it was only me (what COULD he have been thinking, me looking like I had about three more waking minutes to my name). Somebody said no to the existence of pets (I mumbled something about the rooster and somebody else smacked a hand over my mouth).
Later, about three minutes later, it took about three of them to get me off that bed and back down to the parking lot to crack the windows for Waddles. I argued the entire way. Really, guys, he'll fry up great in there! Lunch! Supper! Dinner tomorrow morning's chicken hash with eggs over easy.
I sent a text to Cielo on the off chance I'd be murdered or worse in my sleep. She told me where I was. I set the cell phone alarm to 4:30 and passed out. I was up on my own at 3:30 and on the way out the door. I woke up because there were a bunch of kids making a racket and their mother speaking mother talk. The thing is they didn't sound the least bit disturbing. They were playing. She was sweet. It was a nice thing to wake up to.
I hit the road. $34.19. Seriously. And the nicest, cleanest motel room I've ever had the good fortune to call my home for a few brief hours.
For $34.19 I got to see this in one piece:
That shot's not legal but I couldn't help myself. I'd have taken a crack at the NYC skyline but there was still at least one Cielo ancestor in the front passenger seat (for awhile there were several and having them all stacked up like that was just a BIT disconcerting) reminding me that my eyes go forward. Period.
For $34.19 I get to post this, which is priceless (and they may shoot me and I may have to take it down but here it is anyway):
Girls gone Hillbilly. At play. We missed you, Florkow. Also, I swear my arm's not that fat. I need some photoshopping...
I guess it all comes down to this:
The price of at least one life. I'm pretty sure about that.