When I booked my tickets, I must have thought July had 32 days.
Tonight I get back from Seattle into LAX at 11:25 PM. Sadly, knowing what a disaster that airport is, I suspect we’ll land and then taxi for 45 minutes, meaning I should be out to the curb waiting for a Lyft by 12:30 AM. This wouldn’t be such a huge problem except my next flight back out is not 36 hours away… it’s 10 hours. I realized this just a few days ago.
I had toyed with just getting a hotel room down by the airport but honestly it was easily $100… and I needed to swap out my bags anyway from the Washingtonian clothes for my Vietnam gear. I was able to do a load of laundry at my Seattle airbnb which helps tremendously but I didn’t know that would be possible before flying up here.
Again, a little more planning and foresight would have done wonders. But I’m burned out on planning. There’s been too much of it recently… and yet I suppose not nearly enough.
This all has contributed to the throwing up of my hands on the ferry ride today out onto Puget Sound. I’ve never actually been on a car ferry before and would probably even enjoy the experience… but my head just can’t accept that it’s apparently a per-car fare and not per-person and thus it feels like I’m being discriminated against as a solo traveler. I’m not obviously… but it FEELS that way. Or maybe I’m just feeling the soreness of this weekend’s races and have a post-running slump. The fact that I haven’t recently experienced the pre- or post- or frankly the as-it-happens running high is neither here nor there.
Perhaps a change in country will help… or perhaps it will hinder. Who can say anymore?
I did however mock this up a few weeks back when I first signed up for this adventure.
And so I’ll spend the day in Seattle waiting for my cheap flight back to LAX.
I’m feeling very stupid.
Thirty-two days hath July… that’s a thing, right? Right?