How’s that for a creative title?
We got home last night. Thankfully, we didn’t need to use Lyft because the one of the two wonderful humans who cat-sat for us came and got us from the SFO, thus reducing any chance of my maiming a Lyft driver because they talked too much.
When did we decide that using Puddle-jumpers for continental flights was wise, btw? You know what I mean, right? The small planes with the terribad concave seats made of cardboard and shame? Fortunately even though that’s what I flew from Montreal to SFO in, there was no one in my isle, so I just slept across all three seats.
Theres an epic amount of laundry and unpacking to do, I have to work at 11 and I have a ton of writing to do, but at the moment I’m doing nothing but drinking coffee and compulsively lotioning myself while smiling at the California sun I haven’t seen in 2 weeks.
Myself and the Alvin arrived in Sweden on Saturday evening. I know this is true because I had every electronic device available to tell me so, but I’m moderately sure I was on that plane for at least a week. I don’t fly badly, per se. I know what to expect, how long it takes me to be blessed with the gift of extreme back pain and how long it’ll take that to make me mean AF.
Five hours, if you’re curious. It takes 5 hours for me to hit maximum back pain, and maybe another two hours for that to turn to a delicately seething rage. This flight, it wasn’t the back pain that really got me, it was the air. I picked up a cold or something similar on the flight. I swear, I felt it settle into my nose like a stray cat settles into your couch after crawling through the open window. It’s not terrible, just couldn’t fucking breathe quite right. Colds infuriate me on my best day, much more when I’m in a country that doesn’t have actual non-homeopathic cold medicine. This is me, side-eyeing you, Sweden.
It’s now Wednesday and I’m mostly a human again. A friend who’s down with his husband for the same meetings Alvin’s in brought me expectorant and I’ll likely survive.
I am now in the village of Brest, in France:and it’s gloomy and lovely.We’re staying with Alvin’s dear friends. I’ll update this later with more information about the trip in general, but I’ve let this post languish for days, because I’m busy and lazy.
Chai and cat-tails, for now.