It was good to wake up in my own bed this morning. It’s good to not hurt quite as much as I was afraid I might given all the traveling I’ve done in the past four days. It’s good to be in my comfy chair with trusty canine by my side (smelling very nice from her recent bath in honor of my homecoming). It’s good to have REAL coffee delivered to me by a smiling, happy Devoted Spouse and it’s good to be working on my blog from the comfort of my own home. In other words, I feel somewhat like Dorothy clicking her ruby heels to get back to Kansas. The past few days I have longed for a set of ruby heels that would simply get me home. At every turn I kept waiting to hear, “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog, too.” This was a trip filled with bizarre people, images and experiences. And, it was sad, but this is not a blog about sadness so we shall not speak of that now.
I spoke briefly of my stay at the No-Tell motel the last evening. My only saving grace that last night was the hour or so I spent on Twitter telling my blogging buddies (all 7 of you now) of the nonsense I was experiencing and being my usual goofy self about what was happening all around me. Twitter kept me company; kept me from feeling alone and somewhat frightened, and helped me retain what small amount of my sanity still lives. Twitter made me laugh. I think it was the bandaids that did it.
I’m referring to my final motel which I won’t identify because I don’t want a lawsuit on my hands for libel or defamation or whatever they call it these days when you’re simply telling the truth about a rotten person or place but due to political correctness, YOU’RE always the one accused. (wow, what a long sentence; note to self: stop that.) Anyway, in my final motel I had been given a handicapped accessible room because I didn’t want to try and drag a suitcase up stairs. I didn’t realize that this room on the ground floor was truly handicapped accessible, meaning set up for someone in a wheelchair – I just thought I had been given a room on the ground floor. So, the door had not one peephole, but two; one at standing level, and the other which could be used by someone sitting in a wheelchair. A nice feature, but it was also directly in line with the little desk on which I had placed my laptop and where there was a bright light shining directly on me and my laptop. When I heard all my “neighbors” arrive I had visions of some drooling halfwit peeking into not just one but two peepholes at me and all I could think to do was get out the bandaids from my handy dandy little mini-travel first aid kit and paste two of them over the peepholes. No peeking in at me was going to occur on my watch. So that’s what I did. BTW I forgot to take them off and I’m sure the housecleaning staff got a big kick out of that. Or they couldn’t figure it out at all and could only come up with, “Donde esta el peephole?”
I felt safe now with my bandaids in place until I got the distinct feeling I was being watched. I had already heard the “couple” on one side of me doing unspeakable things and hollering all the usual “Oh Baby, Oh Baby” and the Richter Scale was only registering about a 2 as my wall shook from their headboard slamming into it. I pretty much ignored them figuring Bubba probably needed the practice anyway… but it was that eerie feeling I couldn’t shake that someone or something was watching me or waiting for me. It was like a scene out of a Dean Koontz or Stephen King movie. I got up from my little desk, went to the front of the room (all of about 5 steps), peeked out the curtains and there sitting on the sidewalk in front of my room is this black cat with yellow eyes just sitting there staring at my window. I quickly dropped the curtain back into place and went back to Twitter this strange event.
A few minutes later I heard the yappy dog on the other side of me and got that “being watched” feeling again. Once more I went to the curtain, pulled it back just a hair and out in front of my room now is a mangy orange colored little dog eating dog kibble directly off the sidewalk (poor dog, not even from a bowl), and now there are two cats sitting in front of my window staring at me. Ick. Back to Twitter.
Not five minutes later I couldn’t stand it anymore as I heard people outside the door so back to the curtain I went. Discreetly peeking from the farthest corner I saw some creepy dirty looking people outside, all with cell phones in one hand and cigarettes in the other; one was leaning on the side of my car, one of the CATS was sitting on the hood of my car and now there were THREE more cats sitting on the sidewalk all staring at my window. Holey moley Batman, crap on a crutch; I was either in Deliverance or Oz, I wasn’t sure which. I had a terrible feeling that at any moment I would see those damned flying monkeys so I dropped the curtain and returned to the relative safety of Twitter.
It was time to sign off Twitter; I was freaking out my blogging buddies with tales of what was going on, especially one friend who was truly concerned for my safety when she found out I was in this sleezebag motel by myself and wanted me to go into total lockdown. God love her heart; she said she would worry until she heard from me the following day that I was safe. That’s what’s so great about the blogosphere – the love and support of strangers who become your best friends is simply an amazing experience. (And, yes, I Twittered my arrival home first thing Tues morning).
The night quieted somewhat until about 3 a.m. when Bubba hollered out “One more time!” and the wall started to move. I got up and turned on the tv, packed what little I had taken out, took a shower and sat on the bed eating pilfered packages of Saltines and drinking stale Coke for breakfast. By 6 a.m. it was light enough that I felt safe hauling my stuff to the car and getting the hell out of Dodge.
Yes, I definitely feel a special rapport with Dorothy – I have clicked my heels three times and said the magic words, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.” And here I am – home. *sigh*