(if this rambles or is too personal, sorry. It’s late. Or early?) It’s 2am and I’m leaning against the wall in the Syracuse Greyhound station, charging my phone up before the next round of buses. We’re in hour… let’s see… hour 15 of a 27 hour travel day. I think we must be out of […]
It’s a morning of mayhem and madness.
I lose my hairbrush. Twice. Elisha has trouble holding down his hardboiled egg, and Ezra is grumpy as a result of getting up so early. Mom questions whether I really need my guitar, if maybe I should bring the mandolin instead. Dad announces that our driver has arrived almost forty minutes too early, and Mom accidentally dumps half a gallon of water across the kitchen. At 4:30 AM, none of us are particularly patient.
These are the things no one thinks of when they think of our lives. I think. The ridiculously early mornings, the times things go horribly wrong, the miserable moments that somehow become the best stories later on.