Travel day

The alarm went off at 4am, and for once I actually got up without hitting Snooze. There was an adorable tightly wound ball of cat on the pillow at my feet, practically begging me to stay and snuggle, but I dragged myself out of bed, shuffled to the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Even hot water coursing down on me didn't do much to wake me up, and I felt sick to my stomach from being up so early. Some last-minute packing, organizing, and printing out of boarding passes, a half-a**ed attempt to style my hair, and I was out the door and on the road.

It somehow managed to be both chilly and muggy at the same time, and it was still dark by the time I arrived at the airport and parked my car. The airport was busy with passengers, but not with employees—most of the people staffing the security line had apparently gone on break, and the 3 who were still there kept yelling to each other over our heads, having full personal conversations at a volume usually reserved for cheering at sporting events. Everyone in line looked sort of shell-shocked, even the ones who probably travel the same route every week: men in their slick suits and carefully packed carry-ons, deftly removing jackets, belts, shoes, and laptops in the time it takes me to rummage around in my bag for my toiletries zip-lock.

After a packed flight to San Francisco with a neighbor whose flatulence was inexcusable in both its frequency and potency, a brief layover, and a quick flight south on a tiny plane, I arrived in Santa Barbara, or should I say Shangri-la. The sun was glistening off the red tile roofs, the temperature was a perfect 75°, and my parents were waiting for me outside. Shrimp kabobs at an outdoor table in downtown Santa Barbara, a gorgeous coastline drive on the 101, only the briefest and most light-hearted of arguments with my mother (about what I'll be feeding my hypothetical unborn children, obvs), and now I'm writing happily from the gazebo in my aunt and uncle's backyard. There's a purry cat keeping me company, and the slightest of breezes moving the curtains, and poppies in bloom, and I could be wrong, but I think I'm in heaven.

And now I'm off to primp for dinner at the Four Seasons.

Yes, you should probably be jealous.