5/17/2013: - Day 52 - The Highway Signs Say We're Close, But I Don't Read Those Things Anymore: Pizza & Patience

5/17/2013: - Day 52 -

The Highway Signs Say We're Close, But I Don't Read Those Things Anymore: Pizza & Patience

Today I bid farewell to Lola, Tessie, & Tyler, and make my way to Duluth. Once again I spend way too much time giving in to my OCD and trying to organize things. In my efforts to pacify the Type A qualities that have been sticking out, and due to being nearly two months into my retirement, the names of the days have begun to slip my mind, as well as other semi important things that I had stored away in my previously organized and predictable life.

Today, as I begin my drive, reality comes crashing in. The bookmarks in my brain are now flipping open to the pages I've marked that warn "Never drive to Duluth from Minneapolis on a Friday afternoon, especially in the summer" in bold, highlighted, and underlined text.

Today is Friday, and I've waited until the afternoon to drive to Duluth. From Minneapolis. Oh the humanity.

So I sit in traffic for a drive that ends up taking five hours instead of two and a half. Since I'm retired and have nowhere to be it's not that big of deal, except I'm bad at patience. But I'm working on it. And look at this glorious opportunity God has given me to do just that.

As an added benefit, the main road I take to my grandparents' house is, of course, under construction. That's fine. Things like this are starting to be something I can now easily overlook; I'm learning that lots of things that previously seemed like a big deal are really not and aren't worth the high blood pressure.

My grandparents are amazing--they've stocked up on my essentials.

I arrive at my grandparents' house in Pike Lake just in time for pizza. When all else fails (or when we really don't feel like cooking) pizza delivery is a godsend. I always race to the door of course to see if the pizza man is good looking, something I for some reason picked up when I was living here in 2008. It's never paid off so I think in my retired state I'll probably save myself the added energy and just start to assume that the pizza delivery man is seldom worth voluntary exercise. He's a working man, and probably doesn't have time to pretty himself up before he starts running pizzas. I don't blame him. I shouldn't expect him to dress up just for me when I'm going to meet him in sweat pants and a shower I took two days ago.