Aaaaand weíre back.

A good vacation, thatís for sure. Not stressful or difficult, and long enough to make me very happy to be home. On me and Allieís flight from Detroit to Syracuse, I got seated in between Allie and a middle-aged soccer mom who introduced herself to me by saying ìDonít worry, I wonít draw blood, and any bruises will be easily covered up.î Turns out she was deathly afraid of flying, and had already taken a half a Xanax to prepare herself. Of course, takeoffs and landings were the worst, and during the takeoff (which was extra long as the plane felt the need to do a couple of laps around the airport first) she clutched my hand so tight I lost feeling, and then buried her head in my shoulder and right after we left the ground threw her other arm around me. It was more amusing as her three sons were sitting in the row behind us, and her husband across the row behind us. I couldnít tell if he was horribly embarrassed or pissed off that his wife was hanging all over a complete stranger. It was more amusing that Allie was just curled up in the seat next to us, sleeping away. Itís cool that sheís been on a plane enough that she is more than comfortable on them now.

When we landed we realized that her bag had gotten lost, so we had to hang around and do paperwork, and then wait up until 12:30 in the morning (am) for them to deliver the bag. During this delightful process (where I yelled and swore a lot, I think getting my quota for the week out of the way), I remembered that when Joschi, Tina and Jon were at my place that morning, I didnít turn off my coffee pot, so I called my maintenance guy to get him to turn it off. He gave me the bumís rush off the phone, which was odd, and then never called me back (after quick protest that he didnít need the number where I was, he had it in his phone). Of course, when I got home I realized that he never called me back because he never did it, and I had to scour grime out of my pot when I got home.

I got a lot of reading done (ìPattern Recognitionî by William Gibson, ìFlashfireî by Richard Stark, most of ìFirebreakî also by Richard Stark), and managed to hang out on the beach a while before it started raining the past couple of days. I spent my actual 4th, though, I was sick to my stomach as I drank insane amounts of liquor the night before, getting in my Dadís Aquavite (or however the hell you spell it, itís Norwegian or whatever). About three or four shots of that, beers, and then shots of VodkaÖsweet jesus I was praying for death. I think I vomited off and on for about 12 hours, drunkenly recounting lost love and horrors to my friend Chris and my brother in law.

Good times, good times.

So tomorrow begins my new odyssey of employment. Apparently, there is already drama. Dra-ma! */high queenie voice* But, thankfully, it doesnít have anything to do with me. At least, not that I know of. What I do know is that I have to stop myself from going to campus to check in on the store *because I donít work there anymore!* Itís why my keychain is lighter, which my friend Eric says is a good metaphor for my life right now. Which is damn right.

The first episode of ìThe Prisonerî is on BBC America. Tyhey are apparently rerunning them all on Fridays at 10 (and every couple of hours through the wee early AM, too, for the left-coast people). So Iím out.

No longer a prisoner, I remainÖ