Sunday, December 25, 2011

Twenty Hours

F-Bomb AlertTM This post contains language that may not be suitable for all readers.

Since my dad died, I've been spending a lot more time with my mom because she's by herself. Unfortunately, she also lives 629 miles away, and my husband can only take off one week of work at a time, so I'm generally driving by myself. It's 10 hours one way no matter how I slice it. Twenty total. Twenty long hours to be completely alone with just me.

Twenty. Long. Hours.

One learns quickly just how fascinating one actually is in twenty hours of solitary confinement (not very, in my case). Here are some random thoughts from my holiday drive, "lovingly" hand-coded, by the way (and by "lovingly," I mean I cussed the whole time I coded this bitch).

Crap. I left the book I was going to translate at home. I wonder how many more things I'm going to remember that I forgot. I hate packing.Eight whole days without dropping an f-bomb. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck fuck." Wow, I feel so much better now.
I am BYPASSING the entire drawn-out town of Vilonia. Woot!People who are easily offended generally take great delight in it. They probably derive an equal measure of pleasure from being offended than people who enjoy being offensive. Hey, win-win!
Stupid people are REALLY into each other; hence, their numbers are growing demonstrated by all the idiots driving around me.Whoa! The Led Zeppelin was in here the whole time. "Ah, caught you smiling at me/ That's the way it should be/ Like a leaf is to a tree, so fine."
Get your duct-taped hooptie out of my way!
If S...O...P...A passes, Big Bro is probably coming after me. I hope they aren't googling that acronym with my strategically placed periods of ellipsis. Note to self: Strike through Big Bro in case they're googling that.
Rice, rice, and more rice.Three-quarters of a tank and I will pull over to fill up just before Illinois, thank you.
What I've learned from the Marquis de Sade: Know and embrace your inner beast and never apologize for your beastly ways.
Is this that place where I was followed by that creepy van? Thank the holies (the Marquis de Sade, Nietzsche, and Derrida...someday you will remember this) for those two truck drivers.
Cotton.There is no right or wrong in nature. The ability to transgress is what makes us human. Acting on it probably also gives us humanity, empathy, and self-awareness.
This is the place where I rolled down the window and flipped off the dive-bombing crop duster who nearly caused a wreck on the freeway this summer. I wonder if he saw me?Man, Illinois is boring.
I-55 exit to Portageville, MO: "Drug Check Point, K-9, 3/4 mile." Let me wrap by brain around this. Put up a sign that you're going to be searching for drugs...with trained drug-sniffing dogs...and it acts as a beacon for mules transporting the illegal goods to...gee...I don't know...St. Louis...Chicago? People are actually stupid enough to exit here with 10 pounds of coke in the trunk? Oh, wait...exponential growth in stupid people.I can't believe I had to eat fast food to stay awake. Now I feel sick. I guess THAT will keep me from falling asleep.
"The Cleanest Restrooms in Fill in The State Here" usually means there is no toilet paper, no soap, and no paper towels. That's why it's clean.Where's that confounded bridge?
The entire state of Illinois is one giant speed trap. I know this; you know this. Why do you speed? Why do you think you are pulled over? I pass you with a whiff of schadenfreude and a tinge of self-righteousness.There's that confounded bridge. Just get me back in the South...and back up to 70 M.P.H.
Corn, corn, and more corn.Surprise! Wrong exit. Oh, well, the Exxon Pit Stop or Reeves Boomland...six of one, half a dozen of another.
How many times can I sing "Femme Fatale" before I become hoarse? Hit the button again and let's see.Hey, those restrooms really are clean...and well stocked. Maybe I should get gas here from now on.
They shut down seven miles of one freeway lane so two guys can watch another guy work at the half-way point. I'm amazed we even have roads in this country.Damn CD-Player. I guess I'll have to listen to KGMO 100.7 while it cools off.
I have never seen a single person visiting the aluminum-sided Big Damn Cross since it sprung up by the side of I-57 south of Effingham, IL.Thanks to the dick who nearly caused me to have a head-on. You were perfectly content doing 50 on 412 (which is a 60, BTW) when I started to pass you. What, you don't like being passed by a woman?
Time for something more sacrilegious. Oh, VU's Peel Slowly and See disc box set number four. That should do it.If I concentrate, I can get to 67/167 before the last bit of sun disappears behind the Ozark foothills.
There isn't a whole Effing lot going on in Effingham except for the Big Damn Cross, and it isn't exactly happening. *turns up volume*Woohoo! I'm burning up the freeway now! Look out fellow Arkies!
Thank everything I consider holy (the Marquis de Sade, Nietzsche, and Derrida), I'm in Indiana where they also appreciate guns and 70-MPH speed limits.Surprise! Wrong exit Beebe, Arkansas, population 5000 something. Seriously? I've lived here 25 years. I've been to Beebe a million times. I need to be home.
Arkansas smells like catfish and earthworms, Missouri smells like burning tires, Illinois smells like crude, and Indiana smells like poo. I can't decide which is worst.Still loving the Vilonia by-pass.
Where's my bootleg Led Zeppelin? Crap. Another thing I left at home.Gee, thanks for leaving the light on for me, Hubs. Damn, I need a drink. Fuck unpacking.

Photo courtesy Barb Henry through a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs License via,