See, this is what I don't like about...

I hate travel. I hate traveling. I don't mind being places that aren't home. I hate the process involved in getting there.

Today is Wednesday. On Saturday, the hubby, the daughter and I will be going from San Diego to San Francisco along the Pacific Coast Highway. It will be gorgeous, the hubs enthuses. The scenery is breathtaking. We'll make a two day road trip of it, see Big Sur and Santa Barbara and Carmel. You'll never forget it.

Since at no time has Disneyland figured into this scheme, it just sounds like two days in a car to me. I hate traveling by car. (Well, in all cases but one of recent memory, I hate traveling by car.
I had a GREAT time when Kel and I drove up to Michigan to care for my father.)

I hear that San Fran is a wonderful town. Tony Bennett left his heart there. I hope it's been refrigerated all this time. I am looking forward to being someplace less desert-like with a wider choice of activities. It should be a nice place to visit, and I will have Kel with me while the hubs works his standard 12 hour day. If it didn't involve traveling to get there, I would probably be excited.

But here's the drill. I have to pack. I have to keep track of my meds, my insulin, my cell phone. I will have to sleep in yet another strange bed in another place that is NOT home, as in there is no place like. I will have to do all that in reverse order to get back to San Diego and almost immediately again to return to Tennessee, where my cats, my friends, and my son's family live. I get to live there from time to time myself. Dave hardly ever does. He doesn't mind travel.

What a dope.