I love Mate madly.
I do.
But I’m not sure I can fully impart to him the mental exhaustion of someone who does work in their pajamas suddenly subjected to ALL THE AWESOME PEOPLE for five and a half days.
I know when I get off the plane, I’m usually a babbling mess, and if I don’t get a complete day to decompress, I become a screaming, crying, babbling mess.
Seriously.
I usually think he hates me and wants a divorce on the second day I get back from a con.
In this case, we spent that day in a car for twelve hours, enjoying the scenic stylings of Utah and Nevada.
The vasty nothingness of the salt flats was particularly fascinating.
The kids were like, “Oh my God. The Morton company. For real?”
Anyway–we made it through.
We had a giant pizza–accidentally ordered by myself, the night before. I was looking at prices, thinking, “Family size,” and didn’t realize that in Utah, that much money bought a 26″ pizza.
It barely fit through the door. We were driving down the highway with a ginormous pizza box in the back, and every now and then Mate or myself would stick our hands back and go, “Pizza me.”
Only this family, I swear.
We listened to Jim Butcher’s Storm Front, narrated by James Marsters, who sounded like pure sex and Harry Dresden at the same time, and Mate is now really in love with the series, so that’s a good thing. We also listened to Hamilton, and the first hour of Fool Moon.
So, you know– culcha. We haz it. Also, pizza.
Anyway, we made it home, collapsed, and I went and got the dogs today.
They appear to be happy.
The cats also, appeared to be happy–before we got the dogs.
And I spent my day doing… absolutely nothing.
I couldn’t even concentrate to read any of the AWESOME SPECTACULAR BOOKS I got while I was in Denver.
Maybe tomorrow.
*yawn* I’ve got to write just a little, or tomorrow I start ripping faces off, and then, to bed.
Cause baby, I’m home.
