Indeed, Mr. Human Factor-- please fail me not.

Currently listening to: Andrew Bird - "Tables and Chairs"


Sometimes it seems as though implosion is imminent. Or explosion.

When you're really weary, mainly:
from lack of sleep, lack of love,
lack of patience, lack of kindness, lack of
hope.
It's incredible how many people reject the present only to destroy a better tomorrow; it's...
it's.

The atmosphere will be fine--
and the life
and the gift
and the understanding.





Because the truth is that there is no real lack, no sirree, not at all. If it's here now, there are ways to gently send it to nowhere land to destroy nobody else's disposition-- not that it's gotten anywhere near the point it wishes to be with me.

A Series of Unfortunate Events and Beyond, or the Impossible Attempt to Come Home from Battle, or I feel Odysseus’ Pain

Most listened to song of the 27 hours of travel: Andrew Bird - "A Nervous Tic Motion of the Head to the Left"



Flight mega-delayed: 5.5 hours in PDX—a few conversations, meeting of a nice fellow, and complete memorization of Andrew Bird lyrics, and then my flight decides to finally depart—wee!

Chicago O’Hare—what a horrible airport. Disorganized as doom, no free wireless, and no flight to Hartsfield-Atlanta—that’s right, no flights out.

Haley really does rock—she listens to my bitching and whining and whimpering for 45 solid minutes followed by some 70something additional minutes of plain ranting after I freeze my scoowampling frying fishsticking butt off looking for an airport shuttle in 18-degree weather.

Check-in guy a bit of a jerk-off, but incredibly nice suite as hotel room at five start hotel. Sweet life. Excepting the fact that I wasn’t brilliant enough to pack another outfit in the carryon (containing parents’ carefully wrapped and protected delicate Christmas gifts instead) in case of “unlikely” stucked-ness in Chicago. Room very climbable. Good. Climb around a few hours to wear off energy deriving from two mochas and 3 disgusting but necessary coffees. Watch some of Top Gun. Never seen before. Tom Cruise not that good looking in my book.

Roll around 2 am- 5.55 am Central. Sleep 2 or so hours.
Half eaten sandwich and fries—forgot to call room service to come pick it up. Write apologetic note to cleaning lady with tip—mention to have a great life with a big smiley as always. Catch shuttle just in time.

3 mochas and half a bagel later—still here. Flight delayed—surprise, surprise! Supposed former takeoff: 9.48 am Central. Current estimate of takeoff: 10.30 am. Let’s see if it actually happens.

Mom has a meeting to attend. Presently attempting to find a ride in the ATL. May have to sit around at another hotel for some hours if nay. UGHHHH!

Haven’t been home in a few months. Would like to go home. Home would be nice. Bed would be nice. Hope I find my luggage—45 lbs’ worth of warm and favourite comfortable clothing. Will cry if trouble finding luggage. Haven’t cried yet. Have handled entire situation surprisingly well considering that I’m me—minimal panic. Actually, more than panic, anger. For only 15 minutes when the beeps wouldn’t tell me where to find a beeping shuttle since ground transportation signs for specific hotels were nonexistent. You think you’re angry and cranky, buds? It’s gonna take me over a day to get back to my home! I’ve been counting down to this, dang it, and now I get stuck somewhere I can’t even take the risk of exploring (if I were even properly dressed to be here, that is)! Cursing effectively repressed until now. Manage to utter evil things to myself as opposed to getting in anyone’s face about my misfortunes. Wasting time. No wireless for free here—Portland really does rock on several levels.

I almost wish I had a paper to write. Not in the mood for book reading—though, on the way to Chicago, I did read the history of all 55,000 college presidents who have been through Reed. Maybe I’ll read the scandals next. And though a 4.0 GPA might be nice, I’d still rather my roommate/doormate not suicide.

Estimated arrival time: 1.22 pm Eastern, December 17—only 14 hours past initial expectations! Will it happen? Oh, screw it, I’m dramatic—I will perish here, and no one will care to even give me a proper burial. Maybe a dog will make some use of my bones? And do cannibals consume dead flesh? Maybe one day I’ll find my way home [insert singing of “I Will Find My Way Back Home” here. I even know the harmony].

Edit: lovely, lovely, lovely hermana coming to pick me up at ATL. Wee. Now I just have to get there…

Gate change at the end of the other side of the universe. On-time takeoff at delayed setting: approximately 10.35 am. Am greatly stunned.

2:00 pm Eastern—OMG OMG OMG I’m hooooooooooooome! Unbelievable. Incredible. Stupendous. Sitting at the Renaissance Marriott lobby having caught a shuttle from the airport after an easy location of the (now stained) luggage that got here before me (yay I’m so happy I have all my things) and waiting on lovely, lovely, lovely sœur to come get me. Yay yay yay. Bad traffic (as usual) in the ATL—will be home in like 2 hours, but who cares?! I’m in the right city now!

[insert gigantic grin here]

And Andrew Bird is right! I have a pack of M&M’s left—there are snacks!!! Good, ‘cause I’m starvin’.