This morning my parents and I woke up in Oklahoma City, where we stayed last night with my cousin. After a quick breakfast, we packed the car, said goodbye to my aunt (who’s staying in OKC to be with her son), and hit the road for home. Having no reason to be back, however, we took our time, stopping once for gas and once for lunch. My dad, the foodie in the family, picked the place–The Hen House in Okemah, Oklahoma. Honestly, I should have known. Dad LOVES The Hen House. It’s like sacred ground to him. The way he talks about the food there, you’d think Jesus Christ himself were in the kitchen.

“The meatloaf is WONDERFUL,” Dad said for the hundredth time today.

Honestly, my dad’s pretty easy to impress when it comes to food. Give him a hamburger–any hamburger–and he’s happier than a pig in shit. This to say that I didn’t know what to expect for my first trip to The Hen House this afternoon. Well–I was pleasantly surprised. First, the meatloaf WAS wonderful. Second, the peanut-butter pie was out of this world. I mean, I won’t go so far as to say that the lord himself could have baked it, but I’m convinced that SOMEONE divine did.

I think we got home about three this afternoon, and after I did some light unpacking, I took a nap. I mean, my family and I have been running around the country for the last two weeks, and as my therapist says, “Vacations are exhausting.” Since waking up about six, I’ve spent the entire night getting settled back in–unpacking, doing laundry, cleaning out the car, opening mail, sorting through trip receipts, planning the rest of the weekend. I’d told myself I was going to save all “work” for later and just rest, but–I don’t know–something came over me.

When I was little and we used to travel, my dad did the same thing. It didn’t matter if we got home at midnight, he’d stay up putting everything back in its proper place. Now that’s what I do. At least, that’s what I did today. Dad, however and ironically, sat on the couch with mom and binge-watched fourteen (14!) episodes of Days of Our Lives. As I was buzzing around the house, Dad said, “Maybe if I’d taken a nap, I’d have as much energy as you do.”

Whizzing by him with my dirty-clothes hamper in hand, I said, “I think it’s all the sugar that was in the peanut-butter pie!”

I mentioned a couple days ago that I left my phone charger in California, a fact that really ticks me off. Not because I don’t have another charger already (I do), but because I really LIKE owning two chargers (one for my room, one for my car). I know this is a first-world problem. Anyway, I went to Walmart tonight to replace the cord that I left in Fresno, but they didn’t have one AS LONG as I wanted.

Nothing is ever as long as you want it, Marcus.

Y’all, I stood in the electronics section for over ten minutes trying to figure out what to do–go with the shorter cord or order a longer one online and wait. Then I started getting overwhelmed, thinking, Just how long do I want this cord to be? And what color? There are SO MANY choices. But finally I thought, Why am I making this complicated? The shorter cord is good enough. Just buy the damn shorter cord and be done with it, Marcus.

So I did.

Another problem solved.

Look at me.

Once a girl I worked with said she painted an entire bedroom in a couple hours. Well, my inner perfectionist flipped shit. “You mean you didn’t use TWO COATS OF PAINT?!” I said. “Oh no,” she replied without apology, “I’m a half-asser.” Hum. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve thought about this, the number of times I’ve silently judged her and people like her for rushing through projects and not doing them “right” or “well” according to MY standards. I apologize. (Like you’ve never judged anyone for something.) Obviously there are A LOT of different ways to live and get by in the world.

Regarding my shorter cord, sure–it’d be nice if the cord reached all the way to the other side of my bed and I could lie on my left side and browse at night. But it’d also be nice if I didn’t spend so much damn time on my phone, so maybe the shorter cord is not only a good-enough thing, but also a good thing. Plus, since I half-assed at Walmart earlier and didn’t do the one-million-choices-online nightmare, now I have MORE TIME to do other activities like blog, or read, or brush my teeth.

AND!

If I half-ass this ending,

I can go to bed now.

So let’s hear it for half-assing.