We just returned from San Francisco early this morning, driving through the night and fighting sleep with coffee and sugary snacks.
Cracker Jack is becoming tradition for father-daughter road trips.
A California road trip with my dad felt so American. I almost expected to turn around and find Kerouac and Steinbeck in the backseat. Farm country as far as the eye can see, and the mountains were actually purple. Katherine, fact-checker of patriotic songs.
In Kern County, all the trees looked like they had absconded from a Tim Burton movie.
After my interview the next day, we wandered around Chinatown and got egg custard from the Golden Gate Bakery. On the way back to the car I had some Super Duper Burger. Two out of three isn't bad, right?
And now my stomach is in knots waiting to hear back about the interview. Courage, and a good supply of silly romantic comedies will get me through. In the meantime, the fickleness of my own moods astounds me.
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