Remember my disastrous trip to Virginia this past winter? When not one, but two of my flights had to make emergency landings, complete with fire trucks and ambulences on the ground, and reached its nadir with an overnight stay in some godforsaken town in West Virginia a few miles from the airstrip where we touched down?
The only upside to that trip was a cash voucher for a future AA flight, which I used for my Nebraska trip. Getting there was uneventful, coming home was a nightmare.
My return trip was scheduled for 4:10; I got to the Omaha airport and it had been rescheduled for 5:30. Then 6:30. My heart sank as I realized I would miss my Dallas connection. But we finally boarded, and after sitting for an unusally long time, the pilot went into a detailed story about a light which had gone out, would have to be replaced, it probably wouldn't affect the flight, but better safe than sorry, we're waiting for the mechanic now, okay, he's showed up, he's fixed it, but now we've got to be sure we've filed the proper paperwork. Another hour and a half.
We arrived in Dallas. I had not only missed my original connecting flight, but my rescheduled flight as well. Not to worry! They had a plane leaving for Austin at 11:10. Well, that one sat forever as well, giving the passengers plenty of time to swap stories of earlier flights that day, with pilots whose over-explained tales of minor maintenance problems sounded suspiciously familiar. This was the first time I heard about the impending strike, and the pilots trying to force the airline's hand with these tactics. Now it all made sense. I had been living in a cocoon for the three and a half days in Omaha, and knew none of this.
We finally got into Austin arouund 1:15. I got home and into bed at 2:00 AM. As tempted as I was to sleep in, I knew I had something on my calendar that morning, so I got up about 6:30 and went in. I put in a full day, came home and collapsed on my bed. I was the kind of bone-tired you get every once in a while when you skip dinner and sleep straight through the night.
Except I woke up around 9:15. I had decided to make today my off day, purely for convenience, but was feeling a little restless, and couldn't get back to sleep. So at 9:35, Banks and I headed out. Despite the odd hour, it felt comfortable and familiar; as much as I love getting away, I love coming home even more, and returning to my life and my routine. I dropped Banks off and continued on a simple neighborhood walk, making long and random loops and repeating them again and again. I liked the mindlessness of it, and the fact that it was late enough that no one was out and wondering why I kept walking by their house over and over.
My tiredness is back, in full force. Off to bed.
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