I’m tired, so I’m posting an email by way of update:
I was stuck in motherfucking San Fransisco for three fucking days. I was to have a layover in Denver on one of those days that no one had a layover in Denver. Christmas Eve-Day was the earliest they could get me out of motherfucking San Fransisco. On Thursday, I puked all over the San Fransisco airport –in an airsickness bag on landing, in the baggage claim, in the bathroom, in the drop off lane outside of terminal three– and sat in line for five hours to get this ticket for Christmas Eve-Day via Dulles. Then I slept on a chair in the San Fransisco airport. Was interviewed by local news. Got a hotel on Friday, slept and watched Showtime until Saturday when I ventured back into the world. Rode the cable car to Fisherman’s Warf, sat on the pier outside the museum of old Americana fortune telling machines, looking at Alcatraz island, tugging my overgrown bangs over my eyes so that no one else could see me crying because I was stuck alone in the coolest place I’ve ever not wanted to be. Took a ten dollar boat tour on the bay, ate clam chowder in a sour dough bread bowl. Did not feel well enough to have any Anchor Steam fresh from the source. But now I am in my Grandma’s living room. Finally.