Don't Invite Me

February 3, 2017.

                    

I moved my feet off the dash for this shot of Route 66.  
You're welcome.
After Albuquerque, we began our (long, fast) journey back to NC.  
Doug had to return to Maine immediately so we made a plan for me to stay in Asheville.  

Okay, So!  If you're ever going on a really long trip on a really flat landscape on a really straight road, don't invite me.

We left Albuquerque on February 1st and for three very long days we drove out of New Mexico, across The Texas Panhandle (stopped for gas), Oklahoma (where we experienced howling winds, no wonder it was named The Dust Bowl) and then Arkansas with very few stops.  It may sound romantic but it's not.  It's a really long trip on a really flat landscape on a really straight road and if there had been a bridge I would have jumped off it.  There was one bridge but Doug wouldn't stop.  I'm not complaining.  It's just .... yeh.

I did catch a shot of this but I don't know what it was:

I get so bored.  For three days we drove 8, 7 and another 7 hours, with stops to walk Zuma and quick cups of tea and coffee. 
By the time we tumbled into a hotel room at night we were too exhausted to form a sentence.  We just kinda slurred and mumbled and somehow formed a take-out order.  

So, anyway, I know I'm a terrible passenger after my patience-ometer hits a certain number.  I admit it.  I own it.  But I do attempt to better the journey by actually doing something constructive other than gawking out of the window in a trance.  
Or falling asleep in some God-awful embarrassing twisted pose with my tongue lolling out.  Or curling my toes in my shoes to stop the car when Doug gets too close behind someone.  (So far, it's really working)!  

So I busy myself by making a list of 'must-do' jobs:

Search Trip Advisor for next place to eat (priority).
Find a hotel at next destination (other priority). 
Solve the problems of the universe.
Complete multiple word-search books.
Make Lists.
Refrain from repeating in my head "Dear God, Please let this be over".  

No wonder my oh-so-proper mother always referred to me as a "Fidget arse" when I was a kid in the back seat on a long road trip with nothing to look at.  They call it ADD now.  I like Fidget arse much better.