Bottom of the Barrel

Welcome to a glimpse at a place we travel to frequently called Bottom of the Barrel.

Bottom of the Barrel is just beyond the town of Desperation and lies only one mile after you encounter _____________________. (Please. Fill in the blank with your choice of words, but be sure to select words which denote and connote confusion, delusion, adult-onset ADD, and a haphazard trip to Delaware, served with a side order of stress.*)

You will know you've arrived at Bottom of the Barrel when you see a few signs pointing in that general direction. These signs may or may not reference the following:

1. You, a worn-out individual who does not have high-speed internet and who typically uploads pictures in advance to have a stockpile on hand--that very same You has used all the pictures in the arsenal except for a few which date back to April and May. These pictures belong in the assenal** because they're not fit to print.

2a. The picture shown here, rife with flaws, is the Creme de le Bottom of the Barrel.
2b. There's no time to upload better pictures.
2c. You haven't even shot any new pictures since April and May in a week.

3. Toss in a marathon drive home from Uruguay Delaware on a Sunday when everyone this side of the Atlantic was traveling northsoutheastandwest, and you can be sure you're headed directly into the town of BOB (Bottom of the Barrel).

While we're here, turn a blind eye try to be patient with the bad photo and lack of content which is standard fare here due to the constraints of me, my life and I.

As a distraction to this journey, please tell me your plans for the week. Highlights, low lights, dim lights and high beams. Or, just tell me the words you'd use to fill in the blank above.

*p.s. This haphazard trip to Delaware, while very enjoyable, was not without its typical Chesapeake Bay Woman-inspired misadventures--particularly on the drive home. Chesapeake Bay Woman will attempt to process, decipher and record those misadventures today while she's sitting comatose with her eyes spinning like pinwheels at work.

**p.m.s. Assenal was a typo and should be ignored. Please blame that carelessness on sheer and utter exhaustion, and rest assured that such mistakes will not happen again unless I drive 6 hours in a car, 2 of which felt like an additional 10 due to getting lost. But that's another story.

Happy, happy Monday.