The following entry (I guess it’s actually the previous, even though it’s below this one. Go figure.) is a long one. It’s the harrowing tale of my trek from Tucson to Chicago that took a whopping 25 hours.
It’s long and there are no pictures. (Sorry about that last part. Had I not been in the middle of a mental breakdown/the great state of Texas, I would’ve been taking photos left and right.) Reading it will certainly be an endeavor. And it may not even be that entertaining.
The thing is, I’m a pretty good self-editor. The post could be a lot longer, I took out some good stuff. Like how the guy sitting next to me on the plane tried to impart his ancient philosophic wisdom on me. (Aristotle could give us some tips about how to keep your cool when flying American Airlines, apparently.) Or how the old lady sitting across from me in the terminal felt the need to yell into her archaic cell phone in her Wisconsin accent. (Dontchaknow.) Or how the happy couple in the room 123 started going at it at 2:13 a.m. (Newsflash: the walls in any La Quinta Inn are paper thin. This shouldn't be news because, come on, it's a La Quinta. What did you expect?)
But anyway, I won’t fault you if you don’t make it through the whole thing. I don’t even blame you if you flat out don’t want to try. If you do, I assume it’s because you’re SUCH a good friend. That or you’re incredibly bored at work.
It was excellent lunchtime reading, thanks!
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