The older I get (and I hope to continue on the current trend), the more I understand why old people (like me) often eschew travel.

What is left of life is too fucking short to deal with all the hassles of getting ready to go, going, coming back, and dealing with the aftermath.

We are going to be headed out on a mini-vacay – just going up to the Santa Cruz mountains, so Bill can visit the trees.

Bill loves trees.

Me?  I just want to hole up somewhere and rest.  And, honestly, I can do that anywhere.

So we might as well visit the trees.

And a big plus is no plane travels to deal with.

However, it does mean packing clothes, electronics (and chargers), meds and food – because where we are staying has a kitchen and nowhere nearby to get food.

I used to go crazy with the food – planning whole meals to be cooked (and then cleaned up).

No more.

Now, everything is easy-peasy and microwave ready.

But we still have to haul it up the mountain, and haul the leftovers back down the mountain (because I always bring too much).

I have to admit, though, Bill does almost all (if not all) of the hauling.

And this little jaunt has the added fun of me having to come off the mountain for rehearsals at least once (don’t know the whole schedule for the days we’re away yet).

We will be taking my crappy old car too – because (a) I don’t want to have to drive Ms. Tesla to get to and from rehearsals; and (b) the Tesla is still too new and nice to be shoving a cooler in the backseat.

I know once I get there, I will relax and enjoy the peace and (hopefully) quiet.

I can read to my heart’s content and work on my music.

Bill can walk amongst the trees.

Ahhh.

But from here to there seems like forever.

One piece of good news, I did the laundry yesterday, so I won’t be facing extra-large laundry when I come home.

The cats, of course, are pissed.

They don’t care that our pet sitter Tammy will come see them every day.

In the cat’s eyes – we are bad pet parents.

And when we get home, we’ll be given the fuck you treatment for a few minutes, before they give in and demand we provide all the pets and fusses of which they feel they were deprived during our absence.

This is not so much a WTF as a just one of those – could it be tomorrow, please?

And just where the fuck do you think you’re going?