I was home after almost three months!
Had a very big brunch with cheese, avocado, eggs and hearty bread we'd brought from When Pigs Fly. I planned on taking the public transport, after saying bye to J but she didn't return in her usual time and by then it was too late for me so I ended up taking the online taxi to the airport. The driver was a very conversational Brazilian gentleman who I agreed with on pretty much everything American.
The flight was a bit delayed but at least I got to check one of my hand carries in. And oh, I got really hassled at the security, so. effing annoying. Happens to me every winter, them and their shitty old machine that can't tell the difference between underclothes and weapons.
The flight was alright, didn't get to use the restroom much but at least I got free seltzer. Slept not to poorly. After landing I collected my luggage, took the train, and came out of CapHill station not too eventfully. The walk home from there felt quite nice, as if I was coming back to my place. Which is...totally normal and obvious, right.
SO I was expecting to come home to see A&A and hang with them and have fun etcetera, but turns out A was stricken with the asshole virus we're all tired of talking about and had abandoned the place in favor of going to Port Angeles. I told him to leave the keys in the apartment, leave the door unlocked. I'd buzz myself in on the phone.
Except I'd forgotten the callbox was broken.
After waiting for a solid 40 minutes hoping somebody coming in or going out would let me in, I texted the apartment manager who immediately let me in.
A had left me a nice large burrito and a bottle of Mexican coke, that was quite sweet. I had the meal, cleaned up the place, got my shit in order, and went to sleep.
It felt good to be back home.
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