[It's gonna take me a couple of days to get the whole weekend written down. Here is part one.]
Saturday
4:45 AM: Packing in a crazed daze.
5:15 AM: Wow, I am not driving well. Vaguely remember an Oprah about the dangers of driving tired. Conclude that this is possibly more dangerous than driving drunk.
5:30 AM: Aquire parking ticket. Drive recklessly through the parking lot. Find a space. Write down name of lot, row of car, what rows that means the car is between and approximately where on the row the car is.
5:33 AM: Find bus station. Write down name of bus, number of bus stop and draw a small map back to the car from the bus.
5:40-6:30 AM: Check in. Wait in line for security. Marvel at how you are the only person who appears to think that a flight this early means traveling in your pajamas. Do the security thing. Aquire bad plane book. Locate gate. Take sedative.
6:35 AM: Small child sits down next to you.
"Hi." "Hi." "My name is Lindsey." "It's very nice to meet you, Lindsey. I'm Mary Ann." "Do you have a sister?" "Yes. I do. I'm going to visit her now." "Is your sister older or younger?" "Younger." "How much?" "Not very much. Just barely a year." "I have a sister that is a year younger than me. She is sitting with my mom." "..." "Is it true that sometimes younger sisters grow up to be bigger than older sisters?" "Yes. My sister is taller than me and bigger than me and stronger than me." "How old were you when she got bigger?" "Maybe twelve or thirteen." "I'm six." "Then you have a long time to wait to see if she gets bigger than you."
7:00 AM: Plane prepares to take off. Go over safety instructions sheet with Lindsey. You're never too young to learn to be a nervous flyer.
9:01 AM: Finish bad plane book. Read airline magazine. Read article about Mt St Helens while Lindsey points out that you can actually see Mt St Helens from the window.
9:25 AM: Burst into tears upon seeing all the trees. Lindsey clearly thinks this is weird.
9:30 AM: Land without crashing. Stop crying. Call Shelly.
"Are you in Portland?"
"I am. But we're currently in the part of the program where everyone stands around waiting to deplane."
"I hate that part."
"We all do."
"I'm currently in the part of the program where I am driving on the highway. I think if you buy your car in Oregon, they stick a brick under the gas pedal. WHY? WHY do they make me drive so slow? At least they're warned, I still have my California plates. These people. They drive. So. Slowly."
"Take your time. I still have to get off the plane and smoke a cigarette before you get here."
"I'll try, but you know if I get the chance I am going to accelerate. I'm not afraid of my gas pedal."
