I awoke to the light of daybreak flitting through rust colored drapes drawn across the window which illuminated the well used state of my surroundings - typical of motel room after a few days of occupancy, and virtually unacceptable anywhere else. There were bags and backpacks and carriers strewn about - here and there as it were - only loosely organized by claimed territories of the room. My things (shoes, messenger bag, and backpack) rested beneath a three-foot square table immediately by my side of the bed.
The tabletop was a microcosm of the room itself and held evidence of our exploits. Twin drink carriers were now filled in with an assortment of rubbish: overturned BK latte cups with shallow pools of chocolate and coffee, bright orange straws, gum wrappers, crumpled straw wrappers, an overturned mini Cranberry cocktail bottle, wadded napkins, soiled facial tissues, and tattered bits of cellophane in the mix. Besides my wallet, keys, cellphone, and glasses, the table also hosted a coffeemaker complete with stagnated coffee, empty water bottles stuffed with rubbish, tags, receipts, a single-serving cheesecake container still littered with the Oreo crust and chocolate smudged fork, coffee cups, piles of fast food napkins, travel-sized antiperspirant, scan card from the Oregon Film Museum, the all important WiFi password, and a neatly folded map of Astoria, Oregon.
Snuggled next to me, beneath an aqua blue blanket, my girlfriend of four years was sleeping off the night before. Just across from her, in the next bed, her best-friend was also sound asleep next to my daughter.
I awoke with the knowledge that today, it'd be up to me to drive on the trek home (some three hours north, northeast), but that wouldn't be until after we spent another full day in this coastal paradise. If nothing else, I was optimistic that today would be a good day.