Boarding Call

And I’m in the airport again, waiting for a delayed flight home, drinking a San Diego IPA and listening to “Santa Baby” in my earbuds. (Everclear does a good version, by the way.)

This the season, I guess.

As per usual, I blinked and we went from pumpkins to turkeys and now I’m scotch-taping Christmas lights to the edge of my desk. What happened to regular season, eh?

It’s dark enough now that it feels way later than it is. If I were to walk in the house right now, I could fall straight into my bed and konk right out, and it’s only 6:45 pm. Airports do that to you. That and the fact that I didn’t sleep last night because I was worried about sleeping through my alarm to catch my ungodly-early flight out this morning at o’dark-thirty. (Do you do that? I do that.)

And home again, jiggity-jig.

This is the part of the airport terminal that has decent beer but shitty coffee. Life is full of trade-offs.

I’m just waiting on my boarding call and thought I’d check in to wish you a happy post-Turkey pre-Santa advent. It’s the season of waiting after all.