Limping Home

After a day of long waits, flight delays, traipsing from LaGuardia to National in DC (changing planes and being transferred between gates by a bus stopped to allow a plane to refuel) to Chicago O’hare (changing terminals and planes while trying to grab a meal) to Little Rock, I’m tired. We got to Little Rock about 10:20 last night, then got a shuttle to the airport hotel. I wasn’t willing to drive home last night, after a grueling day; not with my undependable night-vision. Of course, I decided that even before we left, so we parked here at the hotel before we left for New York.

I got up early, as usual, but wrote just a bit before going back to bed. Then, up at just after seven o’clock. I slipped on yesterday’s clothes and went downstairs for breakfast, courtesy of the hotel, while my wife continued to sleep. She sleeps still. And I am writing about end-of-vacation let-down. I write about being tired and worn and unsuited for anything but more sleep.

Once my wife awakes and has breakfast, or not, we’ll see if the car we left here a lifetime ago is still in the parking lot and still operable.

I have things to say, but I am too tired for words to form in my brain, much less drip through my fingers to the keyboard and onto the screen. I am worn out, for some reason. I’ll rest and see what the world is like, back in the south.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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