(no subject)

I am at the airport, prepping for my flight out -- thankfully no delays this time. Though I'd frankly rather be delayed from a 2pm flight than a 7pm flight (this seems like tempting fate. I'd really rather not be delayed at all).

It has been a remarkably quiet visit; perhaps I burned through all my travel-unpleasantness credits with the 1am arrival on Saturday. I did at one point threaten to medicate both my parents into pleasantness, but they were bickering and at least it shut them up. Possibly because we are all reaching an age where my ability to medicate them is drawing nearer on the horizon. Deo volente it is still many years off, even if sometimes I want to slip a sedative into the family meal.

Last missive before I get onto the plane and head to Chicago -- I have to head through Houston first so I won't be home until tonight, but it will be good to be home and I have tomorrow off, so that's something. And unless I fall off the gangway or something, I have successfully navigated this trip with no injuries. Touch wood.

(no subject)

Fucking Cubs fans.

I am home! No thanks to the Cubs, whose fans got drunk and packed my trains home, or to Mexico and Senegal, whose futbol teams are playing at Soldier Field. Changing trains at Roosevelt (the Soldier Field stop) was, well, interesting. But the Mexico and Senegal fans were well-behaved compared to the Cubs Fans, the Train Riding Cubs Fans, the bane of my existence. Nobody is fooled that the liquid in your Dr. Pepper bottles is Dr. Pepper, guys, you are not all that goddamn clever.

But I am home without having broken, sprained, sliced, scraped, or otherwise impaired any part of my body, so that's something. Time to crawl into bed and catch up on everything I've missed. The world outside is big and scary and I am glad to be shut of it for the night.

Except the delivery driver for Kitchenette. He's allowed inside the building to bring me sushi.