Thursday, January 7
Well. My flight was at 7am not 7pm, and the night before I realized I had lost my passport, and didn't know how I was to get on the plane. After being on hold for like a half an hour a cranky french Canadian lady told me I had to report it stolen and produce the police report to the airline. Great, I just love cops. Seeing as how the scar from my last run in with police hasn't faded totally away( another story for another day) I was not really thinking they would be helpful. But they were. Friendly in fact. And, dare I admit it, kind of cute. L was helpful and drove me, and when we got home made yet another fantastic meal. I seriously want her to be my personal chef, but don't have the money to bribe her yet.YET. So I got on the plane, and there were no screaming children near me, which is a family curse of mine, but in my haste to make my next flight I left my very expensive camera on the plane. Poo. I was so tired by the time I got home I didn't even clean up the kitty barf until after I had a nap and about 10 glasses of water.Being home is really not all it's cracked up to be. Sure I like time alone. Sure I like the quiet, when I am not secretly wishing the guy upstairs, who I have nick-named Godzilla, would spontaneously combust...My cats are darling but not really a substitute for the One I Love. So I write. I draw and I hope for the miracle of a magic plane ticket to bring him here by my side.