Sorry. I know it's Wednesday. We arrived home last night due to a bunch of semi-comical and also tearjerkingly awful delays and we are just in time for storms everywhere, except here. I am happy to be home and I can tell you with great certainty that I am never flying commercial again, if only to erase the horror of listening to some woman chat up a guy so obviously (and he was so oblivious) for seven hours straight without even a fucking BREATH and when they got to zodiac signs and he said he was a Scorpio and she screeched Oh I lovvvve Scorpes! Lochlan and I almost howled out loud with laughter, two rows behind them.
That almost made up for four hours of misery. Let me tell you. I am five foot nothing and those planes are made for preschoolers. Also people are so entitled. They put their carryons overhead and then proceed to stand there and organize the contents while the lineup grows behind them. Like what the fuck, get it later. SIT DOWN.
And then when the plane lands? SIT DOWN. GOD.
Yeah, I can't do it anymore. Call me a carbon slut but don't make me fly with the peasants.
(Don't worry, I am the original peasant, dirty knees and all. Two dollars in my fist for a coffee and a sandwich, it's the first food I've had all week, thank you.)
(That statement for those who are blissfully unaware of how poor we were and are ready to rake me over the coals I stole to keep warm.)
I walked the empty beaches. I found rocks. I forgot about the rocks and damn near got ROASTED at the airport in security. I ate. I drank. I did not sleep at all and am ruined, mostly. I navigated (!). I cried. I heard bagpipes in person and I paid the piper. I bought silly souvenirs like good tourists do and I may have smuggled so much food home in our luggage we considered throwing away all of our already-worn clothing to accommodate it but in the end we rolled everything tightly and it worked. We had a wonderful week.
We are exhausted.
We are never doing it again.