Florida is always a lesson, a memory forgotten and stirred up like ashes from a yester-fire, a walk through a life that though it really was mine, has always tried to forget itself, to curl up into itself and sink until nothing was left.
But Florida refuses to let me forget, and for this I have entered a love-hate relationship with it.
It is not kind when your refuge becomes a scene from your nightmares, not kind at all.

But, all is not lost. Some thoughts from the 12 (12!) hour drive here:
It is time to pull over and rest when you start to realize you are blinking in slow motion.
At 2am, songs like "Banana Phone" off of your childs CD collection become the most hilarious songs you've ever heard (ringringringringringringring--Banana phone!!).
At 4am, I will puposely wake up my sleeping children for the sole purpose of amusing me.
I should really never attempt to drive more than 6 hours at a time (Crystal, this presents a problem).
There is not much more beautiful or inspiring than watching early morning mist mingle with the pine trees before it begins to burn away.
Driving makes me damn hungry.
For some reason, everyone on the road becomes an enemy, worthy of casting evil stares at.
Don't ever drive through a casino town in the dead of night on a Friday (Thankyouthankyouthankyou God for keeping me alive).
Another sign that it is time to pull over: hallucinations.
Girl Scout cookies make a great road trip snack.

And in a little over 24 hours, I shall make this lovely trip again. AND if I can ever get in touch with Stormy (coughcough) I may do it once more at the end of the month.

No, not me. I'm not addicted to pain.

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