More Truth than You Need

If this post smells like vomit, it’s because I’m typing it while we’re in the midst of the three hour drive from the airport to western Kansas, where we’ll be spending Thanksgiving.  I’m not usually prone to carsickness, but my beloved husband keeps attempting to put us all through the windshield with his overzealous braking.  

My attitude about this trip isn’t terribly healthy.  Chris and I returned home from Croatia yesterday and had just over 24 hours before we had to head out the door for the airport again.  First world problems, no doubt, but I’m jet lagged.  I’m filled to the brim with 40-something year old woman hormones.  My kids are filled to the brim with teenage hormones.  And I’m so damn broken and introverted that the mere thought of five days surrounded by people, even those I love dearly, ties my stomach in knots and leaves me weary.  I miss my house.  I miss my dog.  I miss my routine.  And I have zero patience.

E-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g is driving me bonkers and I want to punch all the people.  

The guy in the row in front of me on the plane, who was typing a document entitled, I shit you not, LEADING THE WAY TO WHERE CHARACTER MEETS DESTINY AND PURPOSE.  Really dude?  Take that shit and get off my plane.  

Chris has asked Jerod to quit slurping his drink about 740 times.  Jerod hasn’t heard any of them because his headphones* are on.  I should tap J on the shoulder and get him to listen to his dad, but I’m weary of Chris’ inability to deal with any sound he doesn’t like so I don’t care that J’s not responding to his requests.

Elise spent a good 15 minutes in hysterics because Jerod looked at her wrong, and then Chris didn’t stop for supper when she wanted him to, and she feels like this family isn’t a ‘safe space’ for her.  

The *headphones mentioned above are actually MY headphones that Jerod’s using because he dropped one of his apple wireless dingleberry boppers (or air pods maybe?  I don’t know what the hell they’re called, but I’m still super pissed about Apple removing the headphone jack from iPhones).  Which means no noise cancellation for me.  Which means I have to hear my husband’s singing.  And incessant chatter.  And ever-present VOLUME.  All things that are par for the course when he’s driving and bored.  Nails on a fucking chalkboard, my friends.  

Western Kansas smells like shit.  Literally.  Cow shit.  And my husband’s ‘Smells like money, ha ha ha’ routine never ever gets old.  

There is absolutely, positively no point to this post.  I’m blogging for catharsis, which is strictly against the rules.  But, it’s Thanksgiving Eve.  Maybe you, too, are currently annoyed by every molecule of your environs.  Maybe you, too, are homesick.  Maybe you, too, are entering the holiday season with a shitty attitude.  Maybe you’ll be glad to know you’re not alone.  Probably not, but maybe.

One thought on “More Truth than You Need

Comments are closed.