I made it.
From Seattle. To Phoenix. And back. Barely.
It was a whirlwind trip. I was very happy that I was able to go. My grandpa was doing really good when I was there. His usual self, which was nice to see as I was prepared for the worst.
Here are the impressions I am left with of my trip:
Trying to sit as far in to the aisle as possible on the shuttle bus to the airport so as not to come in to contact with the nasty lady I had to sit next to. Who snored. The entire hour trip to SeaTac.
Getting lost in the Las Vegas airport. Awesome. (Heavy on the sarcasm) And because I got lost? Sad that I was not able to gamble in the airport. I really wanted to pull the handle of a true Sin City slot machine.
Landing in Phoenix over dressed. I went from 44 degrees in WA to 76 degrees in Arizona.
Thankful for the "oh shit" handle in the backseat of Grandma's Buick as she cuts off a delivery truck making a free left. Inches from death. Seriously.
Driving around Phoenix and seeing my old neighborhood, elementary school, the catholic school I was kicked out of, the grandparents house, meeting up with old friends. Waves of nostalgia.
No matter where I was, realizing a lot of people still have no grasp of the "personal space" concept. I had my hair sniffed, my arm sneezed on and countless bumps in various parts of my body. Not to mention the "pat down" I got by the less than friendly TSA personnel at the airport because I had on an under wire bra.
Asked for a pair of wings, on 3 different flights. No dice. Shouldn't I be rewarded for not having a complete knockdown drag out full blown anxiety attack when I saw the little puddle jumper I was flying on from Portland to Seattle? Hello?
Left Saturday from Phoenix, where it was 80. Came home to snow flurries. Took me 3 days to get warm. And then I got sick. Yay.
Thanks to some anxiety meds, most of the trip was a success. I think I can fly better now that I have a bag of tricks up my sleeve.