Except the flight isn't on Friday. It's Thursday morning, as in today, this morning. Brian Young calls me and wakes me up with "Hey buddy, are you on your way?" And horrible realization hits me that I've got exactly 50 minutes before the plane starts boarding.
After a prodigious amount of swearing, I hang up and call my mom. She's an early riser and says she can take me to the airport. Excellent. Now it's time for this desert dweller to pack for...snow. I turn on the shower and don't even wait for the water to warm up. I run naked and wet down the hall and grab my bag, which I had meant to pack days ago. I hurl in a coat, socks, and underwear, a copy of Moby Dick and then get dressed and run outside where my beloved mother is waiting.
She is a very polite driver and loves to just under the speed limit. I grit my teeth while she prays for God to bless me and my journey. I remind myself that if it weren't for her, I would have no chance of making it at all; let her do her thing and focus on the mission.
Security is no problem. Brian waited for me there and the line was very short because who the hell takes a 7 am flight on New Year's Day. Nobody.
Almost not me, too. Because I forget entire days.
But we made it!
Now we just have to make our connection in Chicago. So there's still plenty of time for things to go wrong. I'll try not to get cocky.
After all, there's a high probability I will freeze to death once we get there, like some Dickensian urchin.
But if I don't, everything else should be smooth sailing.
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