Call Me When I’m Sober…
Thursday
Hours to New Orleans from Huntsville via minivan equipped with 3 screaming children: 7
Friday
Hours necessary for errant husband to convince me to move back to Louisiana despite my SIGNIFICANT (Look! ALL CAPS for EMPHASIS) misgivings: 5
Saturday
Hours to Hunstville from New Orleans via minivan with no screaming children: 6
Sunday
Hours to reassure me that this was a good idea: 24
Monday
Hours to rent truck, pack shit, load it all up: 9
Hours spent convincing me that this was still a good idea: 24
Hours from Huntsville to Lake Charles, Louisiana via slow-ass moving truck: 10.5
Hours slept: 0
Tuesday
Hours spent reflecting on what exactly went wrong in your life in order to end up living with your mother-in-law after all: [censored]
Wednesday
We’re heading back to New Orleans tonight to pick up the Spawn of Shakespeare from my mother’s house. I am tired. I am grouchy. My face has broken out from the stress, and I’ve yet to surface from this cloud of complete disbelief and chaos.
I am in desperate need of a good book, a hot bath, and a significantly large dose of liquid demerol.
I am also in desperate need of a good long look at my life…
This spur of the moment shit is for the birds.
Perhaps it’s time to become boring.