Like a Turd of Hurdles

We’re not even off.

It’s 6:00 a.m. –the time we were aiming to leave the house pristine (well, as pristine as we do ’round here) for out housekeeper–and here we are, the truck not packed, the bodies we changed the oil in (me, actually! For the first time) still dirtied, the phones still updating, external hard drives still re-arranging, and most importantly, the cats still letting us know they’re not happy we’re (eventually) going to leave.

To be honest, this is Zocco standard time. We never leave for a trip any earlier than two hours later than we had hoped. We never arrive anywhere less than 15 minutes late. We are travelers, we operate on what a professor of mine once called poet time.

And I’ve not slept a wink since 8:45 a.m. yesterday morning.

It’s officially the first sunrise of our Eastward-bound trip. I’d better be off. . . y’know, to ready the truck. I’m betting we’re off by 10.

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