My arms and legs and joints and back and reproductive organs hurt. I feel like someone beat me with a sock full of nickels. I’m taking a ten-minute lunch to eat pudding and a chicken sandwich (pickles + light mayo only please) and then I’m working working working. We have an event tonight; I will be meeting a Very Important And Famous Republican Person and listening to a lecture. Should be interesting.
I had all these great plans for the weekend. On Saturday I was going to sweep and bag the rest of the leaves on my patio (a project I started and subsequently abandoned in November or so), then take my cameras downtown and/or to the Blackwater Creek Trail to take some pictures. On Sunday I was going to clean the house and get most of the packing done for my trip, since I knew I’d be working late tonight and wouldn’t have a lot of extra time.
What did I do this weekend? Well, I spent most of it reading on the couch. I did at least get the laundry and the dishes done and the trash taken out, but I didn’t take pictures of anything but kitten feet, and I didn’t clean anything but litterboxes, and I didn’t pack anything at all. Mostly because I felt like I’d been beaten with a sock full of nickels.
The back of my neck hurts. My sinuses hurt. My shoulders hurt.
I think I’m going to take a half-day of personal time tomorrow so that I can run out and pick up a few things and run some errands before I leave.
I’m stressed about flying. I love airports but not planes, and my flight from Philadelphia to Las Vegas is five and a half hours long. It’ll be the longest flight I’ve ever had – the next contender was a three-hour flight from Chicago to San Antonio in 2000, and that flight seemed like an eternity. My carrier is US Airways. I fly with them often and I know that they sometimes sell first-class upgrades for less than $100 if they have any seats open. I was hoping to take advantage of that on this trip, but the plane is packed to the gills so chances are looking slim. Maybe I can get bumped and get a free ticket or something.
I’m worried I’ll get airsick. I’m worried I’ll get jet lag. I’m worried I’ll get claustrophobic. I don’t know when in the hell I became such a nervous flier, but there you have it.
Bleargh. I’m really stressed out and I don’t feel good.