The drive down through Texas always seems longer than it should. It may be something about how the land reaches out for miles without a break, or maybe how I’ve taken the same drive home too many times in the last two years. It wasn’t more than a day trip. Drive down one day; drive back up the next. Don’t forget that little errand in between, which was the whole reason you stepped into your car in the first place. The trip was uneventful, unless you’re that type of person that believes going to Buc-ee’s is an event (Insert: If you are, you’re probably from Texas). We were about to take the yellow-brick road around Dallas and decided to break. My husband walked in wide-eyed. “Why does a gas station have more going for it than Hobby Lobby?” I bought him a Texas t-shirt. I believe our friends are disappointed when we say we’re from Texas and have nothing to show for it. We decided against posing with the ugly beaver statue, but there were several kids climbing and hanging off of it, so they must’ve found it cute enough.
It was only 9:30 pm when we arrived back at the apartment. Not too late, but the 500 miles and water quota had taken it’s toll. I fell into bed hoping that Monday wouldn’t come.
The alarm goes off violently at 6 am. I’m awake. I’m awake.