Heh. Thanks Kenju!
Let me just put this out there: I hate the way our house smells when we return home from vacation.
Vacuuming and going over the furniture with the Bissell hasn't helped much this time.
It's really NOT what we wanted to have to come home to after 1) volunteering to give up our seats on the last leg home in order to get a cupla $250 flight vouchers, 2) finding out that there was not a car to be rented in Charlotte due to some confabulation of tintinnabulisitic Omacron Perseiids, 3) sighing heavily over and over so as not to scream in frustration, 4) getting a clue and going online to rent one of the cars the desk staff said didn't exist ("Reservations only": should have been the tipoff to not try to wheedle so much and get straight to playing the underhand), 5) then driving 3+ hours to get home, when the flight we stood down from would have covered the same distance in 30 minutes...and we never DID use the 10 dolla meal vouchers the gate ladies gave us.
But, even though we gave up the flight, and had to spend more money to rent a car, and then spend more TIME to get home, the ride was almost worth not being shoved into the human feedlot they call an airplane for yet another soulless venture into what used to be called 'the friendly skies.'
Sometimes, the back roads are the best, and we still have those dang vouchers in case we're ever fool enough to want to go sky high, ever again. If we do, we'd have to leave the house to the pets again, and I'm simply not strong enough at this point to come home to that specific reek that signifies 'the dog's been chewing herself on the couch again and there's probably cat piss under the couch.'
To add further humour to the matter, my Mom's coming to town tomorrow. Normally, this calles for a thorough steam cleaning of every available nook and cranny, but there's simply no time this time, so I'm hoping Febreeze and low lighting will cover for a week's worth of absence from this place that should make the heart grow fonder.
Upcoming will be a draft of my letter to the airline that carried us mostly home tonight, including the phrases
- that's what you get for sitting in the back row
- I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do
- you there, get back off the plane
- we only have one sandwich
- all y'all are nothing but a new crop of farktards that can't even match up to the herd we had yesterday, so just shut up, moo, and take your seat already!
Oh yes, we're brewing a big ol pot of vitriol up in hyar, and an overnight steep will be just the thing to really get the full flavor of indignation it carries when crafted with the utmost care.
But, lest ye thinking we did not have a good time out west, let me just say : wine tour, dominoes, pancakes. "Shoehorn on a stick," stir fry, new showerheads. Cows mooing at dawn, honeybees on the windshield, irrigation of alfalfa. Purple tablecloths, NAPS, and hugs. One missed picture of a perfectly red leaf among green, a mind-photo of sprinkler-wetted trees backlit against a setting sun dropping drips of gold in a bead curtain to the moist green lawn, a sliver of moon setting deep orange into the blue Delta.
Such things cannot be made second to a momentary irritation. Indeed, such things when taken notice of, tend to sustain a person through times of travail.
Still, I wish I'd hurried up and pictured those droplets of shimmering gilt falling from a screen of deep green leaves today when the rental car people kept telling us there were no cars, instead of imagining their dark horrible deaths, no matter how fun it was to imagine them and their bosses plunging headlong into the burning sinkhole left behind when empty promises suddenly collapse. Somehow, I'm guessing the karma balance would be that much more on keel....
Oh well, tomorrow I'll let some old whoozer cut in front of me in traffic, maybe let someone get a cup of coffee in front of me at work, and on balance I'll be ay-OK. Because letting go of those little evil fantasies as a way to cope with what I perceive to be injustices aimed at my personal being? Ain't gonna happen.