I took a road trip today. All the way from Wake Forest, North Carolina to Roanoke, Virginia. That's right, I made that fateful three hour drive to the old home town.
Usually when I make a trip like this, I like to listen to music and sing along at the tops of my lungs. Okay, usually when I make trips as simple as driving to the grocery store, I like to listen to music and sing along at the tops of my lungs. I love to sing, and lately, I've found that singing in the car is really the only place I can do such a thing.
But today I only listened. Not once did I open my mouth to utter a note in the entire three hours I was on the road. And I just can't think of a good reason why I didn't. Well, maybe I was just in a funk.
I already said a couple days ago that I was ready for Christmas to be over with. But I'm honestly unsure of where these feelings are coming from. Why do I lack the Christmas spirit?
Tonight I'll be surrounded by family, gorging myself on all the things I didn't get to eat at Thanksgiving. I'm sure there will be a great number of laughs between my cousin and I. I'm sure there will be more than a few sentimental moments that I'll, let's be honest, just pretend to play along with in the sentiment of it all. It's no secret that I haven't a sentimental bone in my body. I'm sure I'll field questions about the girlfriend that I don't have and my time frame for giving up and moving back to Virginia.
When all is said and done, it will be a good time had. Then I'll retire back to Mom's house, where I'll stay up all night watching A Christmas Story about six times in a row. But I still don't feel like singing.