I’m going on vacation. Sort of.
I have unfinished business in New England. Bank accounts I need to close. People I didn’t get to say goodbye to. Cremains of my father, my aunt, and a small bit of my uncle to scatter. Loose ends to tie up.
I am going during the Hampton Beach Seafood Festival, yay! That is my yearly pilgrimage to the beach and all the seafood I can eat. I will stop in to see my old coworkers, my Princeton Peeps, during which there will be squealing and hugs. I have a stop to make to say hello to a tweep whom I’ve never actually met in person. And I’ll have a few days to stare at the lake in Maine, and soak it all in, because I’ll probably never go north again.
So far, so good.
The problem is that I’ll be spending a great deal of time in my mother’s company, as we’ll be traveling together. There will be criticism. Three major areas I can think of right now.
Mom has told me my whole life that I need more sleep than other people, which is true. Without seven or eight or more, you get the bitch. Just the way it is. She will, every morning, say, “We thought you were never going to get up!”
I eat every couple of hours. Just the way my metabolism works. Not a lot, but often. She will comment. “You’re eating again?” Yep. And you’re still surprised.
She takes incredibly short showers. I’m not sure how she rinses clean. I’m in there, you know, five, six minutes. Normal, I think. And then I moisturize, clean my ears, put on eyeliner, dry and style my hair, brush my teeth. I take about 35 to 40 minutes to go from asleep to driving. She will comment. “Are you finally ready to go? We’re only going to get groceries you know.”
And. Oh. My. Gawd. The amount of talking she does. Every moment is filled with speculation and opinion. I can’t think while she’s talking. I can’t formulate opinions of my own with her voice constantly in my ears. I feel like I get sonically pushed into a corner and I can merely acknowledge her words, and when we finally part company, and there’s quiet, I feel dizzy and shell shocked and full to overflowing.
I think I will be taking a lot of walks. Perhaps walk back to Florida. From Massachusetts.
TL;DR Vacation, yay! With my mother! Aw, shit.
In 94° heat. Got sweaty. Duh. Drove home, first with the windows down, til I got on the highway, at which point I put the windows up and turned on the a/c because driving next to 18 wheelers at 70 mph is noisy and unnerving.
Was just about dry when I got home an hour later. Gathered my things to get out of the car, and dumped the last inch of water from my walk into my lap. Didn’t get any on the seat; all onto my legs.
I think my grill has hot spots.
I work across the street from a geologic site called Devil’s Millhopper. It is part of Florida’s state park system. It is an enormous sinkhole, and when it first appeared, it apparently looked like a millhopper. I dunno, look it up. Anyway, now it’s got 258 stairs down to the bottom, and a nature trail all the way around the rim. It’s awesome exercise.
I ran into a couple today, probably in their fifties, that was working on their tenth trip up and down the stairs. Holy shit. They are in much better shape than me!
Anyway, I could hear thunder in the distance. Radar indicated storms around, but not too close. Eh, long story short, I got caught at the furthest point from the entrance when it started to rain, you know, Florida rain. Meaning it was a torrential downpour. And I don’t drive over to the park, I leave my car at work, and walk over to the park. Yay, more distance to walk with no tree cover even!
My phone is currently resting in a container with desiccant, just in case. I haven’t gotten that wet accidentally for a long time, but, hey, it’s only rain.
However, that lightning bolt that was so close that I could smell the scorched ozone? That was…..yeah. Mmm, wow. Yikes. Flash. Sizzle. BOOM. Mmmmkay, time to leave, oh, too late, gonna get wet.
Quite good exercise, however, hoofing it back to my car! And a bizarre combination of air conditioning so I don’t fog up the windows, and heat so I don’t freeze in my wet clothes.
TL;DR Yay exercising outdoors in nature! Boo getting caught in a torrential downpour. And I should put ziplock bags in my car to keep my phone dry.
So unfair that Dutch apple pie is not considered fruit, but rather, a “sweet”.
It’s buy one, get one! Can’t that elevate it to “healthy” somehow?
Only one of my coworkers is going to show up tomorrow, and that won’t be until probably noon.
BF left for work early tonight, will be gone all night, and won’t be home till after I leave for work.
I already talked to my mother today, so she won’t call.
I won’t talk to another soul until noon-ish tomorrow.
Watch, a mass die off will happen tonight and I won’t know until tomorrow afternoon sometime, because I wasn’t expecting to see anybody anyway.
I like people, I do. I like having conversations. What I don’t like are angsty or angry or woeful soliloquies, which is what happens most often, in which my participation consists of silent nodding and blinking.
I’ve been told my whole life that I’m a good listener. Grëat.
That thing where two people jump on a train of thought and ride it till the rails run out? Yeah, I miss that. I believe it’s called a “conversation”?
Yesterday morning I was behind a truck that had “Florida Food Service” painted on the side. Along with telephone number, slogan, and website.
I snickered for a long time.
Almost ran myself off the road trying to take a picture, which didn’t come out because the sun was behind it.
So you’ll just have to believe me.
Half a glass of juice: pineapple, orange, whatever.
Half a glass of flavored seltzer: lemon, orange, lime, whatever.
Sweet, but not too sweet. Fizzy, but not too fizzy.
This tip works so well I am compelled to repeat it.
When you get a mosquito bite, put Benadryl cream (or the generic equivalent) on it AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. RIGHT AWAY. Put down what’s in your hands, ignore your family, and put Benadryl cream on it.
And a bandage to prevent rubbing it off.
It reduces the immediate itch to about 5 or 10 percent, and keeps it that way for the next few days. You’ll still know that there’s a bite, but you’ll be able to ignore it.
These are grapes. They’re called Witch Fingers. They taste like an all around basic grape. The skin isn’t snappy like a seedless red grape, and they’re not tart like a green grape. Basic grape. Just shaped different.
They’re from California, and I bought them in a hoity-toity speciality food store in Gainesville, Florida.