Now that I’ve made the semi-traumatic move from NYC back to my parents’ house in Florida, I’m spending every available moment in preparation for the trip. I’m writing to you from my makeshift war room, which unfortunately for my sanity, is located smack in the middle of all the action. Since my attic bedroom is being rented to one of my brother’s friends from high school, I commandeered the dining room on the ground floor and have turned it into Grand Central Station for RTW planning. I was hoping this unemployed time in Florida would help me to focus on my many tasks, but so far I am struggling.
Just now, as I wrote that last paragraph, I ended up sifting through iTunes, deleting tracks I don’t need – not relevant! If it’s not iTunes, it’s most certainly Facebook, Twitter, Ebay, Amazon.com, YouTube or Pandora. Perhaps I should disable my Internet access while writing?
Disabling the Internet would only help with one set of distractions. Our pets are going bonkers now that I’m home. I don’t know what it is, but since Thursday night, our cat Kiki will not leave me alone. She insists on pawing all over my laptop, meowing and purring until I put her in my lap. Then she lovingly claws the skin off my legs. Our dog Sheila is very old and a little senile, so she hasn’t been in my face, but I’m always checking in on her to make sure she’s ok. The worst offender in the bunch is Tommy, our obnoxious blue and gold macaw. He is a jerk on his best day and unfortunately, his designated spot in the house is adjacent to the dining room where Camp RTW is set up. He is either screaming my name – “Aaaaaaaange!” – or barking and chortling for attention, or chasing my sister around the house. Even headphones can’t block out the ruckus.
Can I describe the ruckus? Yes, I can. It’s not just the menagerie of critters causing all the noise. They’ll deny it, but my Mom and Dad are equally as crazy and noisy as Tommy the macaw. They watch TV in separate rooms, but loud enough so my grandparents in the next county can hear. Dad’s either watching the Discovery Channel or SyFy, so it consistently sounds like a jungle safari or alien landing on our house. Mom is watching whatever squawking pundits are most angry about the latest news from Washington, and once per hour telling me I am not allowed to travel around the world by myself. “It’s just too dangerous.” Nancy Grace needs to cut it out for the next 26 days so I can get out of here.
Anybody else out there distracted while planning? I’d go to Starbucks, but yeah, WE DON’T HAVE ONE. Help!