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The long way back home
So I am home, and I am alive.
Let me first say that I will never, ever again take a nap in an airport without setting an alarm.
I finally and painfully tore myself away from Mudd and Robin at four in the morning, taken to the airport by the ever-helpful Jeff. Once the ticket people actually got to the counter, the lines moved right along, they swabbed my bag, and I headed to the gate. 4:50 and I'm sitting there, flight not even leaving for another almost two hours. Time enough for some shuteye, right?
Oops.
I woke up to discover that my watch read 6:55. My flight was at 6:40. I panicked, and even though I saw the plane out the window, the door was closed. The airport employee notified me that the plane was leaving, full, because I hadn't showed up, and helpfully handed me a paper that could get me onto the next flight at 11:35. Choking back bitterness, anger, and grief, I turned away, not watching the plane back away and leave without me, and stormed down the no-longer-empty concourse. Fortunately, somewhere in my addled brain there was a spark of reason. I stopped at the pay phone rack and dug around for the phone card that Robin had ever-so-helpfully noticed just that morning that I'd almost forgotten. First call, parents. I think I maintained my restraint when I told them what happened and that I would be about five hours late getting home. Second call, Robin. I'd fully expected her to be still awake and comforting, and I was not let down, even if my guard was. What a sight I must have been there, on the phone, tears streaking my cheeks and stray bits of hair escaping my head and braid wherever they could.
The feeling I value most, the single sense that keeps me moving and motivated more than any other, is the sense that I am in control of my destiny. Twice in the last year it has been ripped from me by airline mishaps; each time I broke down. This time, thank gods, I could reach someone to talk to, to let sense fight its way back. Eventually I gathered up the will to trek back down to the main terminal, out through security, and back to the ticket counters. The lines at Frontier were non-existent, so my new and improved boarding pass was quick in the printing. Since my suitcase had helpfully been placed on the flight I was supposed to be on, I didn't have to wait in the long-ass line for luggage searching, and laughed inwardly to myself as I headed back up the escalator to take off my shoes once again. This time, trusting in the light to keep me from falling too deep and my watch to bring me back to consciousness properly, I slept away my spare hours and caught the plane.
The descent into Denver was bumpier and nastier than I remember any flight being in a while. My inner ears gave up and sat about sulking, so I huddled up with earplugs waiting for the torture to end. The one impression I did manage to get, however, was one of Green.... the Colorado countryside was distinctly the wrong color for the end of June. Everywhere I looked there were things growing and photosynthesizing! On the drive back, it was all the same, merry green grass where I expected yellow hay. The sky was magnificent, large clouds in whites and greys gathering against the blue, such a contrast to the boring single-color California skies, and as we finally got near home I was even treated to a few far-off lightning strikes.
Went downtown to Buskerfest with Brady and crew.... it was alright, but I was out of it and not really wanting to be around. When instead of going right home, they stopped at Amy's to discuss where they're hiking tomorrow and to watch South Park, I was annoyed, but sat there in silence letting my brain pretend to sleep. I only finally got home, to recall how miserable this computer is, and as the last straw, to have the Internet connection sliced out from underneath me. So I don't know when this is going to post. I think it is bedtime for me, though. Maybe I'll have things straightened out in the morning.
click
Let me first say that I will never, ever again take a nap in an airport without setting an alarm.
I finally and painfully tore myself away from Mudd and Robin at four in the morning, taken to the airport by the ever-helpful Jeff. Once the ticket people actually got to the counter, the lines moved right along, they swabbed my bag, and I headed to the gate. 4:50 and I'm sitting there, flight not even leaving for another almost two hours. Time enough for some shuteye, right?
Oops.
I woke up to discover that my watch read 6:55. My flight was at 6:40. I panicked, and even though I saw the plane out the window, the door was closed. The airport employee notified me that the plane was leaving, full, because I hadn't showed up, and helpfully handed me a paper that could get me onto the next flight at 11:35. Choking back bitterness, anger, and grief, I turned away, not watching the plane back away and leave without me, and stormed down the no-longer-empty concourse. Fortunately, somewhere in my addled brain there was a spark of reason. I stopped at the pay phone rack and dug around for the phone card that Robin had ever-so-helpfully noticed just that morning that I'd almost forgotten. First call, parents. I think I maintained my restraint when I told them what happened and that I would be about five hours late getting home. Second call, Robin. I'd fully expected her to be still awake and comforting, and I was not let down, even if my guard was. What a sight I must have been there, on the phone, tears streaking my cheeks and stray bits of hair escaping my head and braid wherever they could.
The feeling I value most, the single sense that keeps me moving and motivated more than any other, is the sense that I am in control of my destiny. Twice in the last year it has been ripped from me by airline mishaps; each time I broke down. This time, thank gods, I could reach someone to talk to, to let sense fight its way back. Eventually I gathered up the will to trek back down to the main terminal, out through security, and back to the ticket counters. The lines at Frontier were non-existent, so my new and improved boarding pass was quick in the printing. Since my suitcase had helpfully been placed on the flight I was supposed to be on, I didn't have to wait in the long-ass line for luggage searching, and laughed inwardly to myself as I headed back up the escalator to take off my shoes once again. This time, trusting in the light to keep me from falling too deep and my watch to bring me back to consciousness properly, I slept away my spare hours and caught the plane.
The descent into Denver was bumpier and nastier than I remember any flight being in a while. My inner ears gave up and sat about sulking, so I huddled up with earplugs waiting for the torture to end. The one impression I did manage to get, however, was one of Green.... the Colorado countryside was distinctly the wrong color for the end of June. Everywhere I looked there were things growing and photosynthesizing! On the drive back, it was all the same, merry green grass where I expected yellow hay. The sky was magnificent, large clouds in whites and greys gathering against the blue, such a contrast to the boring single-color California skies, and as we finally got near home I was even treated to a few far-off lightning strikes.
Went downtown to Buskerfest with Brady and crew.... it was alright, but I was out of it and not really wanting to be around. When instead of going right home, they stopped at Amy's to discuss where they're hiking tomorrow and to watch South Park, I was annoyed, but sat there in silence letting my brain pretend to sleep. I only finally got home, to recall how miserable this computer is, and as the last straw, to have the Internet connection sliced out from underneath me. So I don't know when this is going to post. I think it is bedtime for me, though. Maybe I'll have things straightened out in the morning.
click
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