It all began at 6:25 AM, when I FINALLY heard my alarm buzzing. I never sleep through an alarm, so I was a bit concerned that I had managed to do so for 25 minutes.
Perplexed, I crawled out of bed in West Warwick, RI, to start my day.
But I never really got started, as you do. I just sort of schlepped around all day, in a haze of fog. A foggy haze. A hazy fog.
I found myself searching for words during conversations and yawning continuously. Then my condition worsened:
- I hopped in my cobalt blue Chevy Aveo around 4:30, silently reminding myself to get gas. I then drove straight to the airport, into the Avis Car Return, and just as I opened my door I commented incredulously: "I forgot to get gas." (Luckily, a kind woman took pity on me and did not charge me the requisite $6.80 per gallon for my error. Nice lady.)
- I breezed through the security line in my typical self-righteous fashion, putting my laptop in its own bin, thankyouverymuch, tossing my shoes and coat in another bin in record time. When the TSA agent asked me if I had any liquids or gels in my bag, I shook my head and smiled. Like I would be silly enough to have liquids! Man, you must be living under a rock not to know - "Bag check!" Well: fuck. A wonderfully lovely security person removed my giant bottle of lotion and not-cheap perfume from my Coach bag. "I'm so sorry," I muttered, "I am not thinking so well today." She smiled benevolently, found me a plastic bag, and said good-naturedly, "I didn't see this!" Lord have mercy: the kindness of strangers is astounding sometimes.
- Next, I entered the gate area in search of the Adirondack Pub. I know from my vast travel experience that the Adirondack Pub - the sole restaurant in the airport - closes at 6 PM, so I had just a few more minutes to grab a drink and a snack before boarding my plane. I stumbled upon a Mexican cantina and marveled, Wow! This must be new. I grabbed a burrito and a martini, but it wasn't until I paid my check and headed to my gate that I realized there was no Adirondack Pub, as I was not at Syracuse's Hancock International Airport. And also: I am bat-shit fucking crazy.
- I actually managed to make it onto my flight and to baggage claim in Philly. While waiting for my bag, a woman made the mistake of asking me from which flight had I just arrived? * Blank stare *
Have either gone mental or am just suffering from exhaustion. No rest for the weary either, friends, as I am on the 6:52 AM to Manhattan, where there is much work to do! J is meeting me in the city this evening to take me to see the new musical The Pirate Queen. See, he is the sweetest fiance one could ask for, as he is deeply frightened by live people spontaneously bursting into song.
Love, Home "Hoping the Mental Retardation Wears Off Before Somebody Gets Hurt" Valley