Woke up at 3:15 this morning. Showered and finished packing (bathroom gear), said goodbyes to people, and left, driven by my uncle Mark, to the airport.

D.C. is quiet at night. The only time it ever is, it seems. The only time people stop worrying about their jobs and policy and administrative necessities. I love car rides at night, I don’t know why. The constant humming, the feeling of safety when being encased in the steel of an automobile. It’s a womb, a warm shell amidst the dark universe.

Anyway, we got to the ticket counter and I tell the lady my flight is at 6:35 to Chicago Midway. She responds, “We don’t have a 6:35, we have a 6:20 and a 6:45.” Mark goes “it’s probably the 6:20.”

I go: “What airport is this?”

It turns out that, an hour before my flight was to take off, we were at BWI instead of IAD. In Baltimore instead of D.C. I was immediately hit with a shock of fear… was I to be sentenced to another few days of yellingchildren-nagginggrandparents-DisneykingdomOFDEATH?

Fortunately, she was able to switch my flight to the 6:20. I got in just fine. Thank fucking God.

In other news:

1. I am allunpacked.

2. I have Gummi Bears (the fromtheairport variety).

3. My roommate is Japanese (the movedtoHawaiiattheageof2 variety).

4. Certain friend thought I should face my manga. Here are the results: