Dang, y'all. I need an intervention. I treat this blog like a red-headed stepchild living under the stairs. No, not the stairs upstairs. Like totally under the basement stairs.
Anyway, last Monday I flew from Philly to Chicago - Chicago to Kansas - then Kansas to Dallas. Don't ask me how I ended up with that flight from hell. My booking skills were momentarily WHACK.
By 4pm on Monday, Southwest Airlines served me my first meal of the day. Honey roasted peanuts. In a bag small enough to be shoved up my rectum to traffic drugs. They coulda just poured those 4 nuts into my hand. It seemed so earth-unfriendly to feature more wrapper than peanuts. After a sketchy landing in Kansas, I wondered if I could cop a whole case of those peanuts just to soothe my (bogus) flying nerves.
Later that night, I had the perfect dinner by myself: A glass of fantastic pinot noir with sliders (mini burgers with onions, aged cheddar, and bacon). Finger food for the kid in me and wine for the
alcoholic responsible and deserving adult that I am.
I always miss my family when I travel alone. But I can't deny the calm that comes with having a room to myself that doesn't involve sharing a remote control, answering the question "where's dinner?", or curling into a corner when the fiance dreams of flying and goes into a diagonal pose in the bed.
So here I am. Back in town again. Exhausted. Yet refreshed. Tired. But happy as a lark. And really excited about catching with the blog friends again. Watch out. I'm on a reading frenzy. And you may be next on the catch-up list.
Love and hugs.