Imagine my surprise when I checked in at the San Diego airport on Sunday to be told that my reservation was for Saturday, the day before. I explained that I would never have made my return reservation for that day and time, since I was picking up my sister, arriving from England three hours later than the flight United thought I had reserved. Maybe to make up for this, they got me a seat on the next flight to San Francisco, in “economy plus”, which means you have a little more space. Airplanes are not classless societies.
I set off the metal detectors again, and also had to have my shoes x-rayed. By this time, I was panicking about both missing the flight and being on it. My Mom had given me some ativan to take, and I discovered that it doesn’t seem to work as well for me as valium, or maybe I just need to take more. To add to the horror, I had a window seat, which I hate, because you can see just how far it is to the earth. On the other hand, we flew right up the coast on a sunny day and it was beautiful: Santa Barbara, Carmel, Monterey.
Back at work yesterday morning first thing. I’m so beyond tired that I’m like an extra from Night of the Living Dead. And you will be amazed to hear that we still don’t know any more about Mom’s prognosis, despite her meeting with the doctor yesterday afternoon. We’re just getting the usual “more tests, waffle, waffle, bullshit”.