I am driving. And I am writing in my head because what else can you do when it is dark and all the kids are sleeping?

So I am writing.

And skipping from song to song on my shuffled playlist, wondering why there are no good songs.

And I am lying to myself at every exit sign… telling myself I’ll just wait for a good place to stop and make a hotel reservation, and maybe write this for real.

Finally after an hour and a half I think to myself, “The next exit with a few choices that I can see, I will stop there!”

And a minute later, I see the Sheetz sign.

And even though we are still like 8 hours from home, I feel like we are close.

The kids wake up, and we buy weird late night sandwiches. Then we go between groggy silence and ridiculous conversation as I make a hotel reservation, and write this.

“Are you okay?” My daughter asks me?

“Yea. I’m just writing my slice,” I say, because in March… in March I have my priorities.