3 1/2 hours to get from work to the airport. Missed my flight, but am on a later one that isn’t so circuitous. Still have myself booked on a third leg that I’m going to miss, but have confirmed that I’ll be on, so that I can get bumped to a later flight. At least that’s how I understand the plan.
Don’t know what I’m supposed to be wearing at the wedding - or actually where it’s supposed to be. But I’m able to be in Pittsburgh now, and have a place to stay, so it’s all good.
Excited about being in the air again, feel like the continent is compressed. Accessible - more so that it ever has been. I expect that this will reverse itself over the next few years.
In the mean time, the site Farecast.com has been very handy. And I’ve got a local playing a ukulele and singing. It’s great, something you very rarely see in an airport.
Shortly I’ll be seeing my dad again, haven’t seen him in a few months. Also I have houseguests coming, when I get back. No rest for the wicked!
Finally proper rain, coming down in torrents, the sides of the roads are streams and puddles that’d go halfway to my knee if I weren’t careful. The umbrellas are our in force, an almost uniform black, ‘cept for one woman who’s flowery parapluie looks as classy as a parasol, and matches her outfit to boot.
This type of rain reminds my of the first visit to Brisbane, meeting up with Aimee and Daisy and watching the world get washed away from the comfort of a tiny hostel. Although I’m told not to expect the thunder and lightning, here.
It’s been a while but that was the crux of it - that month and a half of uncertainty, of instability and unexpectedness, of sleeping in parking lots, of things left unsaid, of dealing with the moment so far away, those were the last days of my travelling. Those were the last days I was living without the expectations of others on me.
Not to say it won’t happen again. It very possibly will. However, as long as everything goes well, it won’t be until after my 30th birthday. And between then and now, who knows!
Work goes well. The cult of personality persists. There’s always much to do, often just a bit too much. I could keep my head down and not get overloaded, but where would the fun be in that? I have valuable contributions that I can make, I might as well make them.
Oh, and then there’s NaNoWriMo, I can still register, although I haven’t started. Need to check to see if autobiography is permitted.