Well, I made it through Monday and Tuesday after vacation, and I feel obligated to write something about the previous week.
Overall, the week was good. It was a long drive, but as I didn't do any of the driving, I had no complaints. The condo thingie was small and cramped but not unbearable. The weather was good. It was warm enough to lay on the beach (I got a little sunburned) but not warm enough to go in the ocean. The water was warmer than I thought, but I didn't go in past about mid-thigh. The pool, unheated, was absolutely frozen.
I saw lots of palm trees, climbed to the top of a lighthouse, and went to Savannah for a day. I bought some interesting souvenirs, including two t-shirts, a magnet for the fridge, a magnet for the car, and a couple of collectible bells for Nancy, who has decided she is collecting them. It was a pretty relaxing vacation.
Saturday morning we left to go back home and then Mum spun out the car on I-95 somewhere in Carolina. She was in the left lane when she sort of weaved onto the shoulder and hit the rumble strips. Panicking somewhat, she turned the wheel to the right, and then to the left. We spun at least 360 degrees and then backed up across the road. Backwards, we ran off the road, down into a ditch, up the other side of the ditch, and stopped a few inches in front of a fence.
Thankfully, there was no other traffic on that part of the road. A semi somewhere behind us must have seen us spin around (there was a cloud of dust rising from the pavement) and pulled to the side of the road to ask if we were okay. Everyone was. Since we didn't think we would be able to make it through the ditch again (despite the off-road capable, all-wheel drive Subaru), Mom drove down the grass to a place where the ground was relatively level and drove back to the road. Dad drove the rest of the way.
So I spent much of the ride and the intervening time afterward feeling a cross between pissed and depressed. I was pissed because I felt as though my mother had been treating me like a child, which is often the effect of spending a week or more with my family (and which is much of the reason why I moved out). It is also the result of the fat that my mother doesn't trust me to drive her car despite several facts. These facts are: I drive more miles per day than she does. I drive more highway miles per day than she does (and have for the past two years, since I started working full time. She's only been in the car with me once or twice since I got my license and thus has no idea of about my ability to drive or not drive.
Complaining about it all makes me feel even more like a child, so I simply sulked the rest of the way home and conveyed my anger in subtle ways like slamming the car door and not really speaking. Of course, my emotionally retarded family failed to notice this, as always. There's no real way to be mature about being pissed, at least in any way that anyone would notice. And there's no real point to being mad if no one knows that you're mad. So I went on, being pissed, and being pissed at myself for being childish, which just sort of proves the whole point. And so that made me feel more angry, which just went on to being depressed over my general situation.
So yeah, great end to vacation. After that, going back to work was sort of a relief. Monday wasn't too awful. I came into only 27 emails and a pile of new items that Nancy had no idea how to do. It only took me half the day to get caught up, and now things are back to relative normalcy. Whee.
Oh yeah, here's a picture of a cardinal in a palm tree, just for fun:
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