There’s a Lot of Scary Movies That Start This Way…

Apparently a weekend writing retreat can mess you up, date-wise.

This was to have posted Monday.  /sigh/
Dateline, rural Michigan.
I’ve always wanted to say that. 
I’ve been in the state for a good 24 hours now, and slowly but surely I am getting over the idea that I will disappear, my luggage discovered at a wayside rest, my prescription sunglasses found by the police outside of a gas station.
I feel about the country how many people feel about cities.
The bed and breakfast at which I am staying has loaned me the use of a car, a Land Rover of indeterminate age.
“First of all,” she says, “she stalls sometimes.  Not a full stall, not most of the time anyway.  So don’t freak.  If it floods, it will only be for a little while.”
She takes a sip of her coffee. 
“Right,” she says.  “Directions.  So!  You take a right out of the front entrance.  You go past the old Schmidt place, the big white place that needs a new roof.  Anyway, there’s a gravel road just after the stand of trees – whatever you do, don’t take that road!  Go another click or two, then take a right at the painted rock, drive around the lake, and you’ll come out where the ballroom used to be and voila!  You’ve arrived.”
An internal shudder runs through me.
“I’m leaving for my writer’s workshop,” I post on Facebook.  “I am wearing a pink and brown patterned dress.  If you later see this dress at a garage sale, alert the authorities and whatever you do, DO NOT BUY THE JERKY!”
I’m sure I’ll live.