I'm back in San Francisco, in my own bed, after a day of triumphs and tribulations (as per usual). I awoke in Iowa earlier than I wanted to but later than I should have, and I did most of my packing and took a shower before brunch was ready. My father made bacon, eggs from his chickens, and fried potatoes (I typed 'friend' by accident and almost left it), and we discussed life and mortality and all sorts of other fun and interesting topics. Then I finished packing, did some photo stuff with my mother, decided to repack, and left approximately fifteen minutes later than planned. Oops.
But we got to Des Moines in plenty of time to have an early supper at Johnny's (I plan my flights around mealtimes there), so I had prime rib to fortify me for the voyage ahead. I needed to be fortified mainly for the walk from the truck to the terminal, as it turns out, since it was ten degrees, I'd already packed my winter coat in my suitcase, and I was slightly damp from having [censored] hose me down with Febreeze in the parking lot. But I survived and have not yet caught pneumonia, so that's good. I checked in, verified that my suitcase was under weight (at forty-eight pounds, I should have put two more things into it, but c'est la vie), and then bid a fond farewell to my parents and [censored]. No one kissed me on the nose Ox-Cart-Man-style, so I guess they weren't sending me off to be worked to death and/or slaughtered, so that's a good thing.
But I may work myself to death anyway. On the plane, I read a book on self-publishing that I've toyed with reading for awhile, and while I didn't learn all that much, it got me fired up for the next phase of my career. I also wrote out my goals and dreams and focus areas for 2014, which I need to revisit and refine over the next couple of days. And I read a long chapter from an interesting book on the War of 1812 (the thesis is that the War of 1812 was a civil war between the US and Canada more than anything else, which I find intriguing), so this may go down in history as the dorkiest plane ride I've ever taken.
When I got to SF, the plane was almost thirty minutes early, which excited me, until I got to baggage claim and found that the carousel they were routing four planes through was broken, so it took forty minutes to get my bag. I was filled with foreboding when I picked it up since the ziptie I'd used to close it was gone, and I was worried that the fine folks at the TSA had confiscated my hatchet. This would have been a fitting close to the day, since I'd gotten word from Terry that she found the box for a package that got delivered to me after I left here, but the box was open and the two dresses inside were stolen. Stupid cities and their stupid thieves. This would never happen in Iowa! Okay, it could totally happen in Iowa. But probably not.
sssanyway, the TSA didn't take my hatchet, but my quart jar of sweet pickles was rewrapped in its protective bubble wrap and covered in TSA inspection tape, so I wonder what they thought the pickles were. But otherwise everything seemed to be intact, so that's a good thing; we'll find out more tomorrow. And now I really must sleep if I'm going to get up and get ready for all the festivities I have in store for myself while also writing a million words - goodnight!
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