Did you ever notice that the trip home from somewhere is always shorter than the trip there? Always! Unless you have to pee.
When you drive, your thoughts are reflected by what you see. For example, if you are hungry you will see every dang food place (missing all the shoes stores). They all look scrumptious. You develop a yearning for each one. Pizza. Burgers. Hoagies. They all look good. Then you get home and there is nothing in the fridge. Boogers.
The trip home from the vet is different from the trip to the vet. The cats sing the song of their people all the way over. Loudly. Off key (if there is a key for that). Once they have been subjected to prodding and probing and some invasion of personal space, they are quite content to duck into the carrier. The ride home is a breeze. I can sing the song of my people. Usually it’s an Eagles song. (That’s Eagles the rock group, not the football team.)
When you are unsure of the route you are driving, you always end up in back of a ginormous 18-wheeler that blocks all the road signs you need to see in a timely fashion. You change lanes at the last possible minute cutting off cars around you. Horns honk. Fingers flash. You silently hope no one is packing heat. (I don’t care if he was demoted. I still need St. Christopher when I drive!)
Sometimes you just know something. You don’t know why you know it, but you do. And you’re right. Then there are times when you SHOULD know something but racking your brain doesn’t help. You cannot remember it to save your life. Until 3 a.m. when you bolt upright in your bed and you remember. Argh!
Hypochondriacs feel their best right after a doctor’s appointment. Especially when they are told nothing is wrong. (If something is wrong, they get bragging rights. “I told you so!”) If the visit was accompanied by expensive tests that “feel good feeling” lasts longer. After all, if you were truly dying of a brain tumor, they would know. Right?
Does anything flummox you?