It’s either an hour earlier or later than I think it is. I have no idea the name of the town I’m in and only a partial idea of the name of the hotel. I’m surrounded by suitcases and I’m not sure which one contains my socks. I spent last night in a bed that was far too soft and the morning in a shower that was far too small. We spent roughly eight hours in the car yesterday, stopping only for gas and a quick, unsatisfying dinner. Soon we’ll corral all our luggage (and don’t ever ignore that the root of that word is “lug”), wrestle it back into the car, and drive for another eight hours, hopefully arriving at our final destination.

If getting there is half the fun, I never want to see the other half.