Today marks the ninety-third day of our full-time RV experience.

But who’s counting…

Ok, me.

I’m counting.

Some days I count every freaking second that ticks off the clock.

CloseQuarters Dave and I have been crammed in this box for ninety-three days.   On the positive fun side, we’ve driven 4300 miles around the country and had some really great adventures.

We’ve also glared daggers at each other on occasion and secretly plotted the best way to ‘throw mama from the train.’

Let’s face it, though we know each other pretty well after forty-three plus years of marriage, we’ve never been crammed in a box before.

In those forty-three years we’ve both worked hard to accept the idiosyncrasies and habits of the other and not let minor annoyances get to us but…

WE’VE NEVER BEEN CRAMMED IN A BOX BEFORE.

I like morning quiet with my coffee.   MorningDave likes the freaking TV on full blast as soon as he gets up.

I like quiet when we drive.  NoiseLovingDave likes music.

I like calm television programs in the bedroom at night.   NothingTooLoud Dave can watch booming explosions and then turn right over and go to sleep, leaving me to find the remote and turn off the television while I try to process the explosive intrusion to my nervous system.

And sleep…he snores. ( To be fair, he claims I do too.)   He goes right to sleep, it takes me over an hour to go through everything in my brain. By then, he is snoring, and I am plotting his demise.

My acid reflux induced coughing drives him crazy.  Through gritted teeth he’ll sweetly ask “Did you take a Pepcid?” and and though he doesn’t add the word I hear the unspoken “dammit.”

The fact that he never puts a bag back in the garbage can after he removes the full one irritates me.

My high strung personality sometimes makes him want to suffocate me with one of those garbage bags, but because he never takes one out of the box I don’t worry much about that…

His views on many things are different than mine.  We try not to talk about those things because there is no place to go to get away when we want to pinch each other’s head off.

In a 3000 sq ft house we had our own space.   In a tin box, his space is my space and mine his.

It’s an ‘in your face’ existence.

It’s a good thing we really love and respect each other, and we have kept our sense of humor.

Honestly, I can’t think of a single person I’d rather be crammed in a box with.

But……ask me again in a month.

Stay tuned….  😉