We stopped for gas and drinks in St. George.
It was there that Dan told me I don't use enough commas in my writing.
I told him that I don't really care.
I start each post with an imaginary "Dear Diary."
I'm writing all this nonsense to myself.
She doesn't care if I use commas.
Dear Diary, commas are dumb.
Hey, there's a comma!
And another!
Love ya, Dan! (another comma!)
* * * * *
I'm a horrible road tripper.
If it were up to me we'd fly everywhere.
It's not up to me.
* * * * *
We spent the night at our halfway point in Primm.
I woke up and collected my birthday snuggles.
I'm 41 now.
* * * * *
I've been watching episodes of FBI Files while I fold laundry lately.
I'm even more paranoid than I was before.
I'm especially worried about my children being kidnapped.
Stopping at gas stations along the way to pee and get drinks has caused me enormous amounts of anxiety.
Danny thinks it's ok for him to just wait outside the bathroom door.
I don't think so.
I told him that people get kidnapped every day.
I told him I need to see him and he needs to see me (or at least be inside the bathroom door waiting patiently by the paper towel dispenser).
I think he got tired of my kidnapping anxiety.
He said, "Who gets kidnapped anymore? Nobody!!"
I think he needs to watch a few episodes of FBI Files with me.
Clearly he is not afraid enough.
* * * * *
There's more to report.
I've been working on this for almost 2 hours so far.
My children are very needy.
Food.
Reminders to go pee and brush their teeth.
More food.
Drinks.
Food again.
Help with the DVD.
Cate puked chocolate milk and blueberries all over the toilet.
Some of it went in but most of it on the seat and the floor around the toilet.
Heaven help me.
