August 28th, 2010
So.
Every year, near the end of August, my mother and siblings and I go on a trip. Just a small one, mind you, overnight in a nearby place. This year, I wasn't planning on going. Honestly, I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay home and work on my writing and be lazy and Skype and forum and watch my three hundred recordings that are piling up on my DVR. Basically, I wanted to do what I've been doing all summer.
Then they said they were taking the computer with them.
And no matter how much I said I wouldn't spend all day on the computer, my mother insisted that either way the laptop was going with her. Now, she's said this before. Before it hasn't worked, simply because she's forgotten about it before going. But before she also was not going away for three days. And while I could have done okay not going on for a full day and a half, I knew this would drive me insane. So I said I'd go.
I did not want to. Basically I went simply because the computer was going, and there was supposed to be Internet, so I could at least attempt to squeeze in time to talk to everyone in the hour or so I'd get.
We were supposed to leave on Wednesday. Come Tuesday night I have not packed, have not washed my hair, and have not done anything. The next day this still rang true at around noontime. In truth, I didn't start doing anything until an hour before we were supposed to leave.
Because I did not want to go.
Two hours after we were supposed to leave we had all miraculously thrown together everything, I had showered, packed, and forced my contacts in, and we were good to go. I huggled my dogs and told them to drive my brother insane and make sure they got their usual amount of attention and then some. And then crawled into the last row of seats in the car and hoped I wouldn't be too miserable.
I was.
Now, mother dearest has very recently gotten a new car. This car has seats that are extremely uncomfortable and make your butt hurt like hell. I don't know who the idiot was who designed them, but whoever they are, they are insane. We've been driving for three minutes when we stop to get gas. At this point I still know where we are and debate grabbing my backpack and the laptop and running like hell until I got home. I probably could have made it, except the back windows don't go down. The windows in the middle row do, but not the very back windows. Cue my despair. Although I could have broken the window, that would have been bad.
So then I debated forcing my way into the middle row and jumping through that window. This would have worked, most likely, if I had the ability to force my gigantic backpack through the window. However, since I did not want my mother to kill me, I refrained from this.
Two minutes later my judgement had a relapse. By that point we had left the gas station and were on the road it's on, a fairly busy one. Here I once more debate escaping and wonder if I could stop myself from rolling soon enough so that I do not get hit by a semi. Once more I hold myself back and attempt to get comfortable in the world's worst car seats.
By the time I hear we've been travelling for seven miles--yes, seven whole miles--I feel sick. This has been happening on and off for the past week or so. I have a headache, my stomach feels nauseous and the uncomfortable seats are killing both my back and my rear end. That seat gets an A+ in multitasking. My misery continues and for some reason the scent of pickles briefly fills the air. This did not in any way help the nausea.
Let's fast forward about an hour, because all that happens in those sixty minutes or so is me feeling sick and being miserable. Anyways, by then my mind is, for some reason I can not explain, hell bent on wanting tomato soup. I do not understand the reason for this. Then it decides it wants grilled cheese, immediately making the connection between the two. Not even regular grilled cheese, like the kind I could easily make at home. The uber-greasy, semi-salty kind they give in my school lunches. And there's no way I could possibly get this grilled cheese for at least a month. So my mind needs to learn to shut up, which it did. By going back to tomato soup obsession.
Somewhere along the way this subsides, although I do not stop feeling miserable. Watch me wallow in my self-pity. *wallows* By the time we finally get there, it's late. And dark. And I have not gotten my tomato soup, nor is there any sign that I may get it anytime soon. This so does not show me in a positive light. Either way . . . My blog, my rants. *shrugs* *continues*
As soon as we get into the room I yank out the laptop and hook up to the hotel's network. By now it's around eleven pm, give or take, and so I'm already tired. I only spend about half an hour, maybe a bit more, online *is proud of self* and then get off and give it to someone else. Against my will.
If there's one thing that seems a common trait in my family it's the inability to share a bed with someone and not kick them. So when I have the option of taking the sofa bed and getting it to myself, I take it. The others never seem to remember the misery. Having the sofa bed, while it means sleeping in the hotel equivalent of the living room, also means there's no one else in there with me, a happy thing. I unpack my overstuffed backpack, make my bed, and write for half an hour or so. All I can remember is by the time I go to bed, it's past midnight and I'm tired from staying up reading Mockingjay the night before.
The next morning dawns bright and early. In other words, I despise it. Because the way hotel curtains work, you have to close them at night or everyone can see you, but when you open them in the morning it burns your eyes. This is how my mother constantly chooses to wake me up. It's around nine am by now, and they choose to drag me to breakfast. Which was nice, I must say, but I'm dead on my feet by that point.
When we get back, I collapse on my lovely sofa bed. It's quite comfortable. In other words, I waste an hour lying there wishing I could sleep. And then not. Right after that, my mother tells me we're going places so I have to get up. So I ask her if I can stay behind. She says no. I beg. She continues saying no. I fight with my sister some more, when she says, "Why'd you even come if you didn't want to go _______?" And then some other snide comments followed that. I yelled due to the latter. Also, she never resists the chance to make a jibe about my computer obsession. All I say is: she's worse. Much worse.
So they drag me places. I spend yet another day being miserable and making a deal about it. This, however, given my track record, was extremely predictable. And they could easily have figured out from the beginning that bring me, especially forcing me to go, will mean I will be miserable and thus make them miserable. Letting me stay will make me happy, and they will be left alone. Simple as that.
By the time we get in that night, I'm exhausted. And go on the computer again. Have a bunch of rushed Skype conversations, a lot of rushed forum conversations, and rapid!beta something. Then I have to, once more, give someone else the computer. *sighs* After forty minutes. This is annoying me intensely at this point. So then I read some more and write bit. And fall asleep again.
The next morning I'm not as tired, not as whiny, and in better shape. My mom was supposed to wake me up early so I could beta something for Des. She fails at this, accidentally, even though she was awake in time. I despair, and am in a rush. Once more I manage to get that done, after breakfast, and then pack up all of my crap in the space of five minutes. They drag me one more place, one I don't mind, and then I have to climb back in the horrible car again. More misery this time, only I manage to sleep and it's not too bad. Somehow we don't even get home until eight, and then I promptly get mauled by dogs who missed me. And grab my laptop. *happy!sigh*
Overall, I spent 48 hours in pure misery simply so I didn't have to leave my laptop. Do I regret it? Kinda. Because I would have hopefully written lots in my notebook if I was home with no internet. However, either way, I believe I most likely would have been miserable.
--Ave, happy to be home
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