There must be some way outta here.


How will I ever go to sleep in this strange hotel room I am sharing with 3 other moms? I took some Benadryl and everything. Traveling always seems more fun when you are planning than while it is actually happening (except Disney World/Land, which never disappoints).







Case in point(s):

• Lousy traveling eating habits = an unhappy tummy.

• Hotel floor fear. (How do I know what previous feet were up to?)

• Hotel beds cannot be sat upon unless the comforter is pulled back to reveal freshly laundered sheets. Then, only in pajamas and not Street Clothes. (Traveling companions wouldn't understand the importance of this and I am alone in my neurotic misery that even 17 years of raising boys cannot undo.)

• Last one down for the night = triggered childhood memories of sleepless nights at slumber parties.

• Endless quests for decent water and/or tea make me grumpy.

• Excessive social interaction = anxiety attacks (apparently).
Fact: I called Lovin' Man at 9:30 last night and asked him to come 40 miles to pick me up. He didn't because I felt stupid but somewhat comforted that he so readily agreed.

Although, he did laugh at me a little.

It seems the above factors have conspired to leave me feeling like not that good of a person.

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