Eleven hours.

Okay, who wants to hear the story of how a trip from New York to Chicago took just over eleven hours? Anyone? Anyone? Too bad! The short of it that thunderstorms that were happening neither at LaGuardia nor O'Hare cause the two-and-a-half hour flight to be delayed for two-and-a-half hours. Then three. Then they threatened us with three and a quarter. Then, thankfully, it was just three again. Of course, I always arrive at the airport well in advance, so to the three hour delay let us tack on an hour and a half. There had been a minor accident on the highway, so the cab ride to the airport took forty-five minutes, and because I had missed the 2:30 Metro-North train, the trip into the city took an hour and fifteen minutes, much of which spent sitting at the train station.

So let's see, we're at what, seven hours so far, and the plane is still sitting on the ground. I, meanwhile, had been sitting in the plane since 6:45 (for my 6:00 flight (that left at 9:00)) so that the station could load other people into flights that weren't going to leave for two hours. The one thing that saved the other passengers from a violent outburst was the fact that I had an empty seat next to me. I'm a big guy, so I like putting up the armrest and being able to spread out into the next seat a little. If I had been forced to squeeze over for the entire trip, I can't promise there wouldn't have been bloodshed.

Seven hours since I left campus and I'm still in New York. I should have been home by now! Seven freaking hours, and the only thing I've eaten in this period is a single hotdog. An airport hotdog. I don't even care about going home anymore; I'm just hungry! Frankly, I hope the plane crashes, just so I have an excuse to resort to cannibalism! Eventually the plane takes off, and I get two little bags of pretzels, instead of just one, to make up for the delays.

Incidentally, who else misses peanuts? I don't like pretzels all that much, I want peanuts back! I don't care who gets sent into anaphylactic shock, peanuts are just a better snack. But I digress...

Two and a half hours later it's 10:30. (Confused? If you've been following the math you'll say I'm wrong, but don't forget time zones!) So I'm home free, right? No! I'm not! I still have to catch a cab to get to my house! There's a line to get a cab. There are nearly one hundred people in that line. I don't see the inside of a taxi until 11:30. Most of the progress I made in the line was from other people giving up and deciding to rent a car. I wish I were kidding.

The ride home took a half hour. I should have taken fifteen minutes, but the driver took me ten miles the wrong way down the expressway before I noticed. I don't even care any more. I'm just glad it's over. Ed is home, with his parents and his cats and lots of convenient foodstuffs, and it'll be three months before has to do anything but be chauffeured to his next destination. Hooray!