Please Excuse My Minor Meltdown

Picture this: You work a reasonably lengthy day at your middle school teaching job, drive home on 20 miles of country roads, stop at the Black Rock Cafe for gas, get honked at by a trucker, and then get home. You and your roommates then proceed to sit and stare at each other without the slightest clue of how to spend your evening.

Because there is nothing to do. You live in the middle of nowhere.

Oh, and I should mention that, in this scenario, you're not you, you're me. (In the middle of nowhere.)

In my defense, I'm not difficult to entertain. I go for long walks, I read everything I can get my hands on (including the Sunday New York Times...brush your shoulders off), enjoy a few Housewives episodes now and then, and partake in an occasional wine night out on the back porch.

But, in small town America (or at least the one I live in), there still seem to be an inordinate number of hours in a day. Back in Charlotte, I would have killed for more time to fit in all of the fun and fabulous things on my to-do list. These days? I try to force myself to fall asleep at 8pm because, hey, at least I'll be bright eyed and bushy tailed for the next day that consists of...exactly the same thing.

And don't get me started on the fact that, in a town of 5,000 people, none seem to be unmarried males in the 25-35 age bracket, bringing up the distinct possibility that I will die old and alone in a nursing home, scented with urine and surrounded by pictures of my cats.

I used to live in New York. I used to meet friends in Charlotte to shop, lunch, and pop over to the Chanel exhibit like it was nothing. Now I drive 30 minutes to get to a Wal-Mart and go to bed at 8pm.

Sigh. At least there's a liquor store.