Roadtrip, Day 3

Day 3: Tuesday

Rockville, MD 9:56 am

Jesus, I am a lot more allergic to cats than I thought.

I lay down on the couch in the living room for what I thought was going to be an excellent sleep. I was extremely tired after a tiresome day of walking around D.C. and whatnot. But this was not to be, for within thirty minutes of lying down, my lungs were filled with water, my eyes were burning, and I was wheezing profusely. Preston asked if I was ok. "No," I told him bluntly. I thought I might die. Honestly.

I decided to go out on the back porch and get some fresh air. That helped a considerable amount. So then I tried putting two chairs together out there and sleeping. That was not going to work. So I went back inside, closed the screen but opened the door, and lay down on the ground. A cat came and sat right next to me.

At this point I was getting really pissed off. This was supposed to be the night that I caught up on some sleep. And it wasn't going well.

At last, I decided to just screw everything and try to fall asleep on the couch. I had a t-shirt covering my mouth and nose, and fell asleep immediately. Turned out to not be a bad sleep.

Destination today is Woodstock, New York. We're staying at a KOA campsite. I am not sure how it'll be, but it will be better than having to deal with fucking cats all night.

Penssaugen, NJ 2:25 pm

We have just had the biggest debaucle of the trip thus far. We decided to exit the New Jersey Turnpike for some cold, caffeinated drinks, and got fucked. We ended being about 10 miles down the road because there was no place to make a U-turn. And it looked like we would never be able to turn around. We were headed toward this gigantic bridge when finally, we talked to a helpful toll-both employee who got us going the right way once again.

But for awhile, all looked hopeless. To quote Preston: "The thing is...I'm scared." That got a good laugh from the both of us. But I could definitely see his point. We were quickly getting lost in one of the scariest states of all.

Now, we are headed back to the turnpike and seem to be doing alright. 

Woodstock, NY 11:11 pm

This campsite sucks major dick. The temperature is about 85, with a humidity level that has to be pushing 100%. I feel sick, and feel like I might feel better if I just urinated all over myself in the tent then sat back and relaxed as the liquid cooled, refreshing my smoldering torso. Preston heartily agrees, adding "My life is a boiling mess of hot fuck."

We have had some alcohol, and some s'mores. And we have certainly had our fill of this KOA campsite. We played a little ping pong when we first got here, which was mildly entertaining but was hardly worth it, as we had to use a ball that was clearly fashioned out of two half-balls that were then forced together in a sort of puzzle-piece fashion. We bounced.

We set up the tent, and I was scared by all the spiders that were around. Brave Preston decided to come to the rescue, smashing one of them in the grass with a vengeance. I felt a little bored, and tried to entertain myself by eating snacks. It worked.

We bought a frisbee at the store (Preston conveniently left mine at our last stop in Rockville) and threw it around for some added entertainment. At one point, this giant siren started to go off. It was very loud, and my first instinct was to plug my ears. As I was in mid-motion, I decided I would hold off and play a bit of a game on my comrade. 

"Preston, why the fuck are your ears plugged?"

"That siren, it's so loud!"

"What are you talking about? You fuckin crazy?"

"The...the siren? Beeeeeeee!! You don't hear that?!"

"Uh...no," 

At this point I'm turning away to suppress my laughs, and Preston is flipping his shit. He starts walking off into the woods, worriedly pulling his hair back.

"Oh my god, is this the first sign of schizophrenia!? OH MY GOD!" His face is stricken with terror, and I finally decide that the joke has landed.

"Yes dude, I fucking heard it!" I yell at him with amusement. He looks at me incredulously, then reacts predictably.

"Fuck you man, not funny, I knew it you ass!" He is obviously relieved, but continues to argue his point that if he did have schizophrenia, "That'd be the first sign." I'll give that to him.

Goodnight, Woodstock. Goodnight, world.