Eight

Dear sirs and madams,
Hi from the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport, where I found a giant store full of items that say "Don't Mess With Texas". You'd think a small selection would be enough, but apparently not! Ah, well, variety is the spice of life, after all.

The first part of today's travel went fairly smoothly. Airplanes are much less fun when you don't have someone to lean on and mould into a personal pillow. Well, I could have, but I don't think the elderly lady beside me would have appreciated it.

I am thinking about my wee sugarbeet Landon George today, sitting by an airport window looking at all the huge, bright airplanes running on the tarmac. I'm missing my little "matala enthusiast" a whole ton. Someone at home give him a squeeze for me today, and tell him his auntie loves him.

Okay, it is about quarter to one at home and in my brain, and I haven't eaten anything all day. I am so tired -- seriously, I think that halting, neck-achy sleep you get on airplanes is actually worse for you than just staying awake. But things are just fine, here.

Ahaha, shit, moment of realization: I've been wondering why everyone who walks by me looks so totally baffled. I guess it'd be the glaring bumper sticker on my computer that reads, "CHARTER FISHING IS AN ORGANIZED CRIME". A little out of place in Texas, maybe.

I am off to find some food, then to apply myself to some work that I have certainly left to the eleventh hour.

Thinking of everyone, and will probably write again from my disastrously long layover in Miami.

Jess