12 crazy days

Friday, August 27:

So, I'm leaving for a conference in San Diego today, as a last-minute substitute for another attorney in my office who can't make it. My flight leaves at 5, but my ride to the airport needs to pick me up at 2:45. Before I go, I have a zillion and two things to do. Two things absolutely have to get filed before I leave the office for a week or an inmate might go free. The Zillion other things each only take about 5 minutes each, but I just don't have 5 zillion minutes today.

At one o'clock, I remember its also the last day to register for Spanish classes for the fall and add that to the list. I manage to get the paperwork done and wrap up pretty much everything else by 2 and I'm suddenly feeling quite good about how I managed to pull all this off. Then at 2:30 my boss-- who knows I'm leaving today-- walks in and dumps about 30 new cases on me that need immediate attention. My secretary, who was surely looking forward to a working vacation of her own while I was gone, is not going to be happy when I tell her about this. I break the news, her what to do, apologize profusely and get out of the office by 3, at which point I again profusely apologize to the ride who's been waiting, somewhat patiently but perhaps somewhat annoyed, in front of my building for way too long.

I catch my flight, and after a seemingly endless layover in the Nation's Least Comfortable and Most Poorly Designed Airport (Houston, if by any small chance you didn't catch the reference), arrive in San Diego.


Saturday, August 28:
We have seriously overbooked our trip. I knew that coming in, but knowing it and actually doing it are just two different things. So, after staying up past two a.m. chatting with old friends in San Diego, we leave later that morning to take a 2-hour trip to LA to see my sister, who has a day full of activities planned. Great, fun, exhausting day, capped with a dinner of lightly seared ahi tuna. But I'm starting to feel a little funny by the end of it...

Sunday Morning, August 29:
Please don't throw up, please don't throw up, please don't throw up...

It's 4 a.m. and my stomach is on fire. I'm hoping I can ride it out, because I hate throwing up. Just hate it. Everyone has their weird little things that they go to illogical lengths to avoid. Mine is throwing up. It grosses me out beyond what I can quickly (or politely) explain. Thankfully, I only throw up about once every 8 years. So now, I should be good for the next 24. Not a good night.

Sunday Afternoon:
I already have plans to meet up with practically everyone I know on the West Coast on Sunday at the San Diego Zoo. So there's no backing out, even if I feel like crap. I make it through. It's a great zoo, but I would have enjoyed it more if my stomach weren't in roughly the same shape as the Gulf of Mexico was a few months ago after the oil spill.

Monday:
Feeling better, I enjoy an afternoon in Old Town San Diego. Accidentally walking past a house reputed to be America's most haunted, I get a sudden headache and my watch inexplicably stops. I had to try it again to see if it was a fluke. The next time, I get the same headache but no watch stoppage. Weird. I waiver between thinking deeply of the implications of this once-in-a-lifetime paranormal phenomenon, or just getting a margarita. I quickly choose the later option (out of view of the creepy house, of course). It was the right decision.

Tuesday:
The conference that was the nominal purpose of my trip begins. Perhaps thanks in part to walking past the creep house, I'm feeling considerably worse than yesterday. So no fish tacos for me today. After dropping Liz off at the airport, I take a quick nap, buy all the Gatorade and diet sprite in sight, and make it through an afternoon and evening of conference stuff and go to bed, hoping for a better tomorrow. Which will hopefully include fish tacos.

Wednesday:
8:30-10 Conference. How am I not feeling any better by now?
10:03 Gatorade
10:03-2 nap. How am I still not feeling any better?
2-5 Conference, followed by a Gatorade.
5-8 nap. How am I still feeling this badly?
8 quick, small dinner (still not chancing the fish tacos), followed by hot tub and another early bedtime. How am I not feeling any better? And how am I going to get fish tacos?

Thursday:
I'm getting fish tacos today, no matter what. So I did, even though I still didn't feel like solid food. They tasted great, and almost immediately thereafter, I felt completely fine. I guess I should have tried that sooner. Good stuff.

Friday:
The conference ends, and I race to the airport to make my 1:00 p.m. flight. I connect through Detroit, which has a surprisingly nice airport that even includes a wine bar (I didn't partake, but it's still cool that they have it) and a sports bar where I watch a guy from Connecticut pick-up a gal local gal headed out somewhere or another. I'm not quite sure how that's going to work, but more power to them. Perhaps they can have their next date at the airport wine bar when their relationship progresses.

I catch my flight and finally arrive in Nashville at 11, where Liz picks me up and takes me home. At which point I have to start packing again.

Saturday:
We had decided to leave Nashville for Indianapolis at 11, going to a friend's wedding weekend. But Saturday morning as we were packing, we found out that Indiana is on Eastern time, which means we actually needed to leave an hour sooner. This made for a suddenly rushed trip, but I don't want to talk about that. Here's what I want to talk about: why is Indiana on Eastern time? Who decided to put the proto-typical Midwestern state in the Eastern Time Zone? Can Congress look into this? Does Indiana realize that there are other time zones available? Are they just trying to mess with people? I need answers.

Anyway, we get to Indy, check into our hotel, and almost immediately leave for a rehearsal dinner an hour away at an Indiana farm. I don't have time to explain.

Sunday:
Leave for the wedding at 11:30 a.m.. The wedding, in a cornfield, was the best wedding in a cornfield that I've ever attended. And I'm not just saying that.

In an unusual twist, the rural version of the reception (think barbecue, corn on the cobb and lemonade) ends at 3:30. Later, a second reception, both more urban and more urbane, starts at 7, back in Indy, with dinner, dancing, fancy dessert and every other good thing that comes with a nice wedding. It was a quick turnaround, but it was fun, once we overcame the exhaustion.

Monday (Labor Day):
I somehow manage to wake up with a sinus infection, but once again, the show must go on. We have plans to meet yet another friend for brunch, drop off a fellow wedding guest and close friend at the airport, and head for Nashville. After an hour-long traffic jam caused by a horrific accident in Louisville and multiple stops for caffeine, we finally make it home at 6. I have a fantasy football draft at 8, after which I crawl in my bed and die. Until tomorrow.

Tuesday, September 7:
Needless to say, I was not at work on time. But it's good to be home.