Notes from the Pantages

It’s not even a week of being away, today is Day 6, but it feels like such a long time. Three airports, three countries, six cities, one flight cancellation, three houses, one sofabed, one hotel (suites are sweet), one funeral, another death (the funeral’s today but I’m in the wrong country), countless hours spent in cars going from place to place (can I tell you how much I don’t miss the daily automotive experience), two malls, gallons of red wine (some better than others), one homecooked meal, one liquid dinner, a pizza delivery, lots of laughs, a few tears, snow, snow, more snow and now a bit of slush.

One new acceptance on a piece of flash fiction, a few new gifts bought and a few ideas nixed, additional fodder for my theory on the more things change the more they stay the same, a house renovation project that seems to be going backwards, a four-mile run that has left me mildly crippled, news of a friend's (non-malignant) brain tumor that caused him to start re-growing at the age of 35, bacon-wrapped scallops with too sweet a hickory sauce, the re-opening of a bar where I once danced in my underwear, department stores are the same horrible mess no matter what city/country you're in, and I still don't know what to buy for most people for the holidays.

But hey, there's still three days, two airports, two countries, three cities and a long car ride to go.

And this morning, I woke up and wrote in my journal that there's nothing to write about. Imagine.