And three, when the urge to get in the car and drive hits, it's hard to ignore. Much like resisting the urge to reread Twilight for the eight millionth time. But, somehow, I'm doing it. Day by ever-lasting day. (I curse you, Stephenie Meyer.) (No, I take that back. I love you, Stephenie Meyer. Now, please, for the love of all that's holy and sweet, finish Midnight Sun. I'm begging you.)
And the trepidation? Well, that stems from the fact that the last time I spur-of-the-moment decided to visit my sister? Back in February? The. Shit. Hit. The. Fan.
But I'm choosing not to think about that. Because, I mean, what are the chances, right? Moving on...
I love to drive. Well, I love to drive if I'm alone. If I'm with someone, then I love for them to drive while I sleep.
(But not really, 'cause, sadly, I got nothing on Carrie Underwood. Nothing even close.)
These are the things I consider mandatory for a less-than-twenty-four-hour visit with my sister and her brood:
Tooth brush and toothpaste. Contact solution and an extra pair of contacts. (Yes, I'm blind.) (Back in February, I lost a contact in my sleep and had to wear my glasses during the drive home. Glasses whose prescription haven't been updated in five years and are missing an earpiece. Going through the agricultural inspection was awesome.) Hair brush. Hair spray. Extra hair bands (because I will go a little crazy if I can't pull my hair back into a pony tail). Deodorant. Razor. Tweezers and trimming scissors (because some habits die hard). Shampoo and conditioner. A book. And, naturally, my camera, cell phone, iPod, laptop, and Nintendo DS. And enough clothes to last me through, well, something really long. I'm an over-packer. I've stopped fighting it.
I'll see you peeps on Tuesday. (The day I turn twenty-five.) (Again.)