I’m back in the ‘boken after traveling well over a thousand miles in under eighty hours. I’m crunchy. I’m stinky. And I’m still haunted by the fruity/chemical taste of the endless Bojangles and Diet Mountain Dew fueled burps that my brother consistently managed to blow into my open mouth every time I turned to yell at him.
It was a long trip.
Never fear, there’s ample fuel for at least three more blogs (and pictures and VIDEOS) based on the antics of my siblings. I just don’t have the energy to cobble together coherent sentences today (as exhibited by the last sentence of that first paragraph). Instead, I leave you with a song. It’s one of Thom’s favorites. I think it explains quite a bit. And no, I don’t think I’m the son of God. Thom might, though.
We started the return car ride with Thom asking, “What about you, Elly – did you suffer a crisis of faith or did you just never believe in God?” Then we ended the trip screaming along to the lyrics of this song. Let the psychoanalysis begin…