I am swimming alone in Utica, New York. Five rainy hours into my race across America. I glide through the warm aqua water, very pleased with myself with how the trip is going so far. First of all, my packing job is close to Godliness. Or at least it was until I realized that, with the bike rack, I couldn't open the back door of the Subaru, so I had to sort of slither into the back, with my legs thrashing around halfway out of the car, digging through all my crates and throwing clothes and shoes around like confetti just to find my camera. I thought I'd be really good at documenting the trip. Turns out, Utica at night looks like anywhere else at night, and I look just the same in front of my Utica hotel mirror as I do in front of any other mirror. Disappointing. I would have thought I might be thinner or something.
Anyway, I'm happy with myself. Not only did I so far not forget anything (except I did forget one thing, but besides that one thing, nothing) but I also managed to choose a hotel that offers mini cheesecakes and free ice cream bars. Which I'm not going to eat either, because I want to give in to the romance of the open road and waste away to nothing. That's why I'm swimming laps. And for dinner tonight, I think I'm going to have a hot bath.
I may be happy, but I am no longer going to be a cheerful person because I had to leave my dog behind in Vermont. This broke my heart. I cannot see myself being cheerful or friendly any more. Instead I'm going to dress fabulously, wear lipstick, and red heels and be mean to everybody. But anyone who looks deeper will see that insisde, my very broken, dog-sick heart is sitting around wearing sweatpants and eating cheesy puffs and wanting to talk about it.
Don't get it started.
Tomorrow I will warn you is going to be a perfectly awful day. Sixteen hours of driving at least and it won't even be enough. This is my very first roadtrip and my first night in a hotel without either my dog or my school. Instead, I have an apple to keep me company.