As I drove under the Jacksonville Exit sign, my stomach began to rumble. My palms became sweaty. My knees grew weak, “arms are heavy, there’s vomit on his sweater already, mom’s spaghetti.” Sorry couldn’t resist.
The clock struck midnight as I pulled into a dusty, deceivingly small campsite. Dirty RVs to the right. Compact cars to the left. A tent accompanying each vehicle. I had arrived home.
The first night, I essentially lived like a hermit. I didn’t have a tent (long, unnecessary story) and, much to my surprise, our vehicles could not be moved once parked. Shockingly, yo girl came ill prepared. Not only was I missing a tent, but I was also missing a pillow and pajama’s.
I should mention, that I was traveling alone…at night. Jeepers. My concert partner, decided not to attend because she’s an actual hermit. I basically hid in my car on the first night of Welcome to Rockville– in order to avoid getting kidnapped and such. Part of me wishes that I would have explored the campground and all of its mystic bonfire, Bud Light, and recreational bud glory-but safety first! Besides, home girl did not want to get Taken before Ozzy.