There are many conflicting aspects of my personality, one of them being that I love to be new places and yet am coming to absolutely despise the getting there part of the journey. Conundrum? You betcha.
Traveling is awesome. I’ve built the majority of my adult life around travel, and my ability to pick up and go new places when I feel like it. It’s awesome. I see new things, meet new people, and provide you with stories of my adventures. However, the whole being stuck in an airborne metal tube, breathing recycled air, surrounded by strangers with a severe lack of personal space and not being able to move about as I please makes me grumpy. Really grumpy.
Especially after a 6am departure leading to a 2.5 hour bus to Dublin, followed by an 11 hour plane flight into a 5, now 6 hour layover in San Francisco. Which I’m sure is a lovely city, but I can’t see any of it because a) fog, and b) everything in the Northern Hemisphere is dark by 4:30 in the afternoon.
So here I am, making questionable dinner choices (FROYO) and biding my time until I can finally, eventually, get on the friggin’ plane to Seattle.
Complaining about travel has got to be pretty far up there on the list of first world problems, but… I’d really like my bed and maybe a few fresh vegetables to munch on. And a shower. Mostly bed.
In better news, Christmas is less than a week away!