As I write this I am huddled in the only place in the entire campground with an electrical outlet – the women’s restroom.
I am stubbornly and rudely ensconced in my little red camping chair, right between the sinks, hogging all the electricity from the single outlet for my computer and camera. Need to blow dry your hair? Tough, I’m recharging! Who blow dries their hair when you’re camping anyway!?
So far, one woman has laughed out loud and one has loudly “harrumphed” at me. Everyone dodges me with expressions ranging from bemused to puzzled to irritated. One girl excitedly asked me if there was Wi-Fi in the bathroom. Oh, my evil self so wanted to say yes, and to tell her that peanut butter is good for your skin … (I know, there’s a special level of hell for people like me.). I apologized to everyone but the woman who “harrumphed” at me.
But I can’t help it; I’m addicted. Addicted to blogging, and even though I won’t be able to send this right away, I MUST WRITE. MUST PUT WORDS ON PAPER. MUST RECHARGE CAMERA TO TAKE MORE PICTURES TO POST ON BLOG.
My interactions with hubby now go like this: “Sorry honey, could you move a little to the left? I need this shot for the blog.” You’re not actually going to say THAT on the world wide web are you? Aren’t you embarrassed how much personal information you share? Ummm, no. Blogging is like giving birth- you’re proud of the product, and you have no modesty left.
Hubby is threatening to find a Bloggers’ Anonymous group.
Imagine this scenario. Actually, it’s not stretching the imagination by much.
red BLUE red BLUE red BLUE-lights flash behind me. Uh, oh, Mr. Highway Patrol. I pull over to the shoulder.
Ma’am, could I see your license and registration please?
Sorry Officer, is there a problem?
Your license, please ma’am. Have you been drinking?
What?! NO! Just Dr. Pepper! It’s only my second one today. And I can quit anytime!
Wait here please.
So I sit and sweat while he checks my tag and license for warrants, or to see if my description matches any escapees from the insane asylum.
He returns to my window. Ma’am, would you step out of the car, please?
Uh, sir could you tell me what this is about?
Just step out please. Please close your eyes and touch your nose with your right index finger.
Which I manage to do mostly on target, smudging my glasses.
Ma’am, we received a call that you were driving erratically, pulling off and on the road.
OHH! I can explain that! “Well, you see officer, I’m a blogger, and I have a lot of ideas about blogging, and my head gets really full of ideas and they start jostling for room, sometimes violently, and I have to pull over and write things down to make room so I can have some peace between my ears.” Whew!
You can get back into your vehicle, ma’am. I’ll be with you in a moment.
In a couple of minutes he’s back at my window with that little piece of yellow paper (Don’t ask how I know it’s yellow).
Ma’am, I’m not going to ticket you, but I am issuing you a warning for inattentive driving.
Oh thank you Officer!
And one more thing-
I suggest you don’t think and drive.
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