A second helping of sloth...

I didn't finagle, just so ya know.

I have not left my apartment in two days.

It occurred to me, earlier, that I have trouble recalling the details of my flight on this coming Wednesday. It's the ONLY THING I have to do, really, in the next coming weeks, and I keep forgetting it. How's that for your subconcious commandeering your waking life?

I say it's the only thing I have to do, despite my many lists. (Obsessive list making - symptom #3?) I say this because it's the only thing I have to do that affects other human beings and will make me feel horrible if I don't succeed at it. The rest of my lists can reasonably wait until after I return, but that's an unhealthy way of thinking. I shall limit it as much as possible.

I don't like this whole flying thing. I haven't spoken to another human being in person since H-Bomb said, "have a nice Christmas, Jo Anna," last night at some point. And yes, she mispronounced my name. I haven't touched another human being since I gave a bus transfer to a bus driver and his hand closed around my fingers. Creepily, I might add.

What I'm saying is that I'm a little leery of throwing myself into holiday traffic with full gusto, holding my own amongst strangers. And then sitting buttcheek to buttcheek with a stranger on the plane for hours. And flying by way of DC - so unnecessary - unloading myself into another airport full of strangers hopped up on holiday spirit or humbugs.

Dear reader, I didn't tell you that when I last went home for Baby Girl's birthday party, my Aunt Paula said, "Jo, your hair looks so different... it's sort of smooth and straighter or something."

"Yeah," I said, "It's long enough to weigh itself down."

"There's something else that's different..." she said, voice loud and nasal.

I shrugged, hoping she'd drop it. "Well I think I finally have the curls under control." (You may laugh, gentle reader.)

"I know what it is! You've had it thinned!" Then she ran her fingers through my hair and felt the back where it's thinnest, frowning at me and looking at my mom, who watched this whole interaction intently. "They did a pretty uneven job of it..."

What if I miss that flight? They wouldn't come to get me, right? What's the worst they could do?