nerves

I need to finish packing for our weekend excursion to a place called "Crap Creek." It's a campsite on a canal. A canal where gargantuan barges barge through with their toxic wares from China, the heavy cargo destined only to be recalled, or in my case, stuffed into my underwear drawer (James the Tank Engine and his tender) because I can't be bothered with a trip to the post office. I am wary of this weekend, with its inevitable filth and tented sleeping arrangements. I have been there once before and I did have a great time, there's clay in the creek and I sculpted a devil head (self portrait?). But this time I have children and this time I am older and require a certain level of comfort and air conditioning for my very sanity. I fear being beroygus the whole time. That's Yiddish for being a moody asshole. Bryan keeps telling me that it'll be fun, whee! Because our children will be entertained and tended to by people other than ourselves. This'll give us time to perfect our trailer trash poses down by the water's edge in our dirty bathing suits. I guess it could be worse. It could be a week. At the very least, I'm putting the Miller Family Philosophy into action: "Expect the worst and always be pleasantly surprised."