In a few hours I’ll leave to drive the hour down to the airport to pick up my ex-husband, who’s coming out for a week’s vacation to spend with the kids. He’ll stay here at the house while Shane and I take our own much needed road trip vacation, with my mom and stepdad, across southern Colorado. We leave for five days late this afternoon.

Childless. Dogless. Catless. Workless. Choreless. No definitive plans. No schedule. Maybe we’ll do a little camping, a little resort-ing. Lots of exploring. Make progress on a book proposal by flashlight in a tent by the river. Have late, lazy breakfasts in roadside diners in small western mountain towns. A round of drinks in dark and moody taverns. Who knows?

Don’t wait up.

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It’s hot. Not thermometer hot, it’s only registering 91 out there (which is merely “pretty warm” in the dry desert). But stagnant, dusty, claustrophobic hot. We’re all walking around with our eyelids sagging, constant glasses of iced tea or water in our hands, shuffling our bare feet along the tile floors. Stopping for a minute, or five, in front of the fan.

I keep looking out the window, hoping to see a storm brewing out there. They’ve been known around here to develop from a tiny little white speck into an angry, seething beast in the space of a half hour, but there isn’t even a speck to work with.

The dogs have confiscated every cool spot on the tile bathroom floors, and the cat has barely moved from his lounging spot by the kitchen window all day. Even a decadent Saturday afternoon nap turned into a tossing-turning-sticky-sweaty ordeal worthy of a shower immediately after. Blech.

That’s it. I’m afraid only smoothies can save us now.

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