It all started out so well.
The 12-hour drive flew by last Thursday. Friday night’s game was a thriller. Saturday’s game was a heartbreaker, but an eye-opener as well. I had arrived in my Cubs fandom.
And then I woke up on Sunday.
As a dog.
With some form of a stomach virus.
And a 12-to-13-hour drive ahead.
I got home, but what was supposed to be a continuation of what I even considered as a well-deserved vacation has since been stalled with hours-long naps and a devotion to the History Channel. I’m supposed to be lounging on a beach right now, a cold one in my hand and my feet in the cool ocean water. I’m still hoping I can make it there before the week is out, but only the waves need to be rolling, not my stomach.
Why am I writing all of this? Am I looking for pity?
No. Just needed a break in between Modern Marvels episodes.
Um, go Cubs or something.