We are home. We unpacked the car and then Banjo Man merrily hustled off to town to buy groceries while I sat on the couch in a stupor.
I’m still sitting on the couch in a stupor. I have my nightgown on. I still have a cup of diet soda from the last gas station we stopped at in Connecticut. Because I like straws and lids.
We are watching football on tv. Nebraska plays in an hour and we are so excited to watch it on our own tv set.
I’m breaking out the tequila to celebrate our safe arrival back in Rhode Island. I don’t have to drive anywhere tomorrow. I don’t have to program the GPS or double check the road atlas or find the cords to all of my high tech devices or play that Willie Nelson cd for Banjo Man another fifty times.
I’m not sure where my cell phone is. Maybe I lost it in Ohio, who knows?
And who cares?
I am in my nightgown.
I am on the couch.
Banjo Man is next to me.
And we are not in the car, going 70 miles an hour down the highway.