I woke up Sunday morning with a big lump in my throat. Even though we didn't have to get up until eight, my mind crawled into consciousness at around five or so. I rolled around fitfully in my sleeping bag for the next several hours, brooding over the long day ahead of me.

There were two things that really got to me. The first thing was how I was going to lose three hours: two hours from the time zone change from the flight home, and the last hour from the switch to Daylight Savings Time on the mainland. Three hours. Gone. Just like that. The second thing that irked me was the fact that I was going to get home at around 2 AM. Monday was going to be a very long day.

In retrospect, it wasn't that bad. Even though I was crammed in the middle of the middle column on a DC-10, I slept most of the way home. I got spanked with a hefty parking bill when I arrived in Seattle. My friend offered to let me leave my car at her place, but I opted to just park at the airport, since the extra hassle Sunday night would have added nearly an hour to my commute home (ironically, she was down in Portland that night anyhow). The drive home was uneventful. It's amazing how many cops there are out there patrolling the PDX-SEATAC corridor between 9 PM and 12 AM Sunday night. I've already gotten slapped once with a speeding ticket (again, of the hefty type) driving that particular strip of Interstate 5. I arrived home, didn't even unpack, and flopped into bed.

What seemed like minutes later, my alarm politely went off. Five minutes after that, my secondary alarm went off, not so politely (that's its job).

I grudgingly rolled out of bed into a nice set of clothes and drove off to work.

And so ends my annual vacation. Woe is me!

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