V is also for Vroom.
I have developed a full-fledged non-trial version of foot-tapping, sighing-aloud senioritis at work. It worked out fine this week because we had these special events taking place during which I didn’t have to do most of my usual duties. Instead I worked on an extra-fun special project and then did things like get my hair cut and have lunch with friends.

And it works out even better now, because I’m going on a trip for a week and a half with Marshall. I originally planned this trip in a fit of “Oh, dear lord help me, for now I must visit all the schools whose MFA programs I’d consider going to!” at the beginning of the month, before realizing a mere week later that you can learn all you need to know over the phone, and realizing also that most of these places had to know whether I was going there before the end of March, anyway.

But all that doesn’t matter because now we have two plane tickets to Arizona booked for next week. Leaving from Pittsburgh. So tomorrow, we take my wee speedy Honda from Attalanta to the tiny, bustling metropolis of Grifton, NC to see my grandmother. Then we drive to check out this beach town where it looks like I’ll be spending the next three years. I hope there are good music venues there. I hope there are interesting people there. Hell, I hope there are any music venues there. From there, it’s back to the car and up to Pgh for all of one(1) day in which I will regale Marshall with the best parts of the city of my birth. Places like the Southside and the inclines and the creepy Wabash Tunnel – which was built and then never used and so its dark, vacant entrance looms, all toothless maw’like on the side of Mount Washington facing the city. Effectively scares the bejeebers out of me whenever I see it. (Don’t ask me why. My sister has a phobia of empty swimming pools. Look at her and point and laugh; not at me.) (Except if you do, I’ll sock you.)

After that it’s Arizona to see our good friends who live there and also the Grand Canyon, for which I am totally excited and for which I have been given three very specific and separate orders from family-members and friends for various tchochkes.

And then, flying back to Pittsburgh and driving d’reckly back to Attalanta.

And yeah, phew.

And you know it will.
So all this starts tomorrow. It’s midnight now and I’m too antsy to go to sleep, so I’m getting important last-minute things done, like making sandwiches for the road and sprinkling catnip on Danger Cat’s new bed and observing his bizarre reaction (Sniffing followed by washing followed by rolling around, then abrupt sitting up and more washing. Is my cat actually having fun or is he freaking out? Do I need to put on some Traffic to chill him out? I can’t believe I bought this legally at fricking Petco.) Also making important travel mix tapes, err, cds, whatever. Which I adore because they adhere perfectly to my Principle of Nonsnottiness With the Music: See, you can just put on songs that are terrible that you love without one iota of consequence, because the sole fact that you’re in the car and punchy because it’s been five hours somehow excuses the presence of Stephen Stills’ “Southern Cross” on your Road Tape. And the fact that you know all those lyrics. (For, why –yes. I, in fact, have been looking around the world. For that woman-girl. With a love that can endure. )

Ai-yi-yi. See ya laters, taters.