Or at least we probably will be by the time you read this. I’m kinda packed but not really stressing because, hell, I can always buy something at Walmart, right? It isn’t like I’m going to need anything with a designer label to drive across the country. *sigh* I just wish I would have thought in advance to watch Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives in order to more properly appreciate the journey. After midnight on the morning that I’m leaving does seem a little last minuteish to be plotting out restaurants that have the original grease from 1865 or deep-fried hog balls dusted with confectioner’s sugar. Not that I’m too proud. I’ve just still got too much to do.
I’m just trying to get a little bit of cooking done for Swampman, who has been saying things like “don’t bother, I’ll be fine!” I know that he’s probably going to throw the home-cooked food into Puppy’s bowl and go eat fried chicken the entire time I’m gone or, even better if somebody’s invented it, fried chicken wrapped in a slice of bacon.
My feet ache and I really need to go to bed, but I’m just too danged nervous. I haven’t really decided on a final route yet. Well, yes I have, actually, but Mom isn’t on board. I want to go I-10 to Louisiana and then head north until St. Louis and then turn west to KCMO. Mom wants to go through Atlanta.
I’m not so much nervous about the trip, but I worry about leaving Swampman here with so much to take care of. I left him a written note with maps of where my chickens are located. I worry about coming home and finding chickens that have starved to death because he forgot about them. And I worry about him eating “right”. And I worry about him not hearing the alarm clock go off, or the phone ring, or, well, I just worry. I worry about his knees giving out and him collapsing and not being able to get up. Perhaps I should deputize SwampDaughter into taking over my anxious hovering duties. SwampDaughter, can you call SwampMan daily and ask him if he’s eating vegetables? Jalapeno poppers do not count. He’s going to try to argue with you on that one. Oh, wait, you’re as bad as he is.
I have pretty much ruled out going through Atlanta. The traffic there can be horrendous. What if Mom started worrying about us making our exit, and I tell her that unless she shoots that guy’s tires out in the other lane that ain’t letting us move over, we’re gonna miss it, you know she just might think I was serious and do it? She’s pretty serious about getting to KCMO on schedule!
Eesh. I’m gonna be a zombie tomorrow, I just know it. And I do not know which fast food emporium serves gluten-free brains.