First World Problems: Whining About a Bridge

There’s a bridge over the interstate very near where we live that was recently hit by a tanker and closed down.  It’s going to be closed for months.

This is the bridge that I take every day to take the kids to school. To go to church and work. To buy groceries. To do all the things. And now it’s closed.

The first day I was in denial. The second day I literally cried. It hurts my head to try to figure out which back roads are the best  to take depending on where I’m going.

Several years ago I lived on a small island. I know what island life is like. I know what it’s like to be in a remote location and far away from the people and things you love and need. Well, I’ve lived in the United States a while now. I guess I’ve become a spoiled first-world brat, because I suddenly feel like I live on an island again.

If you add 5 minutes to about 6 trips a day, then you can see I’m losing about 3.5 hours of my week because of this bridge. Like the hours just vanish. Those are probably the hours I was gonna clean the toilets or be a really awesome mom. Think of all the possibilities just down the tubes.

We’ve come up with some possible compromises. We could park one of our vehicles on each side of the bridge and walk across each time. We could pass the kids over the bridge to meet up with friends. Because it is so close, yet so far away to get anywhere. Did I mention wanting to cry?

Let’s also talk about how every detour route basically has construction. It’s like they decided to work on every single road around here all at the same time. There are wrecks, and lane closures and construction zones like all the places. I feel like I’m playing a game of mini golf where you have  to avoid the hazards every time I get out and go somewhere.

So this is my post complaining about the bridge. And next I will tell you my deep thoughts and what I’m actually learning through this inconvenience.

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