Tomorrow I am leaving for a solo trip to TN. Newport News to Atlanta to Chattanooga, straight onward to meet my ever-awesome little brother who will be picking me up at the airport (unless he forgets, which is actually highly likely, though not something I'm particularly worried about). I haven't been home since Dad died, haven't visited the farm without knowing that he's somewhere nearby working on SOMETHING, or at least staring in the backyard looking at the sky and smoking a cigarette.
Damn things will kill you. And they did. Now I know that Dad is nearby, but he's in a pretty wooden box in the living room, while all of our hearts continue to break.
Sometimes, life sucks.
I'm anxious about my trip. So far, I've given myself a stomachache, broken out in hives, and managed to make zero plans as to where I'm going to stay or how I'm going to get there. No car. No home. No worries. I figure I'll just show up with my suitcase, hang out and be fabulous (or at least get drunk shortly after we land) and go from there. As long as I show up for my return flight, there's really not much difference what happens in between. I don't even know what I have packed (although whatever it is, let's all hope it's not in bottles over 3.4 ounces, lest I have to wrestle some airport security bitch to the ground for confiscating my expensive moisturizer).
Onward to TN.