Against all the odds, the playful travel gods, and my own personal predilection for vacation disaster we somehow, some kinda way, made it home late last night.
During the innumerable flights home yesterday I had high hopes of writing about our adventures. Hell, I even made some notes. But sadly, that ain’t gonna happen. It’s gonna have to wait a coupla days.
I’m strung out.
The countless beers I drank are sitting in my bloated belly waiting patiently to be churned out by my overworked kidneys, my liver feels like a wet towel, and my last sober brain cell is flickering and glowing uncertainly.
I haven’t shaved or showered in eight days so I’m prickly like Brett Favre, itchy from the saltwater, and smell like a three dollar hooker on dollar night.
I’m totally wiped.
But ya know what?- it’s sooooo nice to be home.
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