Nightmare/Retreat

I’ve been told that it’s important to take a break — get in the car, hop on a plane, inject yourself with propofol — whatever it takes. I love free advice — remember when everyone told me to get my cat fixed? She did die but I hate dwelling on details.

Anyway, I decided to take that break…

Step one was important and involved shaving the dog.

This took about two hours because she insists on wearing the wig.

Step two involved tuna-salad. That’s self-explanatory.

And step three was spent poring over maps. This step was critical because, for some reason, I would be the person driving the car. “WHAT?!” you say. And rightly so.

Yes, for two and a half hours, my passengers/prisoners sat with clenched jaws, praying for safe passage or a quick, painless death.

Praise the Lord, prayers were answered, tuna salad was consumed, ticks were pulled, and screens were repaired.

It was only 24 hours, but it felt longer. If someone you love is diagnosed with a terminal illness and wants to make their life feel like it’s dragging on and on, send them to a place without flushing toilets — a place where you are forced to haul your own water to pour into the toilet bowl so the toilet will (magically) flush.

The drive home was terrifying and I gripped the steering wheel like a scrap of wood floating by a freshly wrecked ship. If the other drivers on 35W only knew my fear, they would have given me my own lane and maybe a police escort.