I'm sitting at Chicago's O'Hare airport for the umpteenth time, again waiting on a delayed flight. I should, at this moment, be somewhere in the air over the US on my way to Tokyo en route to my little island-nation. Instead, I'm working on a paper, returning emails, and hoping that the delay doesn't stretch beyond the predicted five hours.
I'm ready to be home.
The rest of my time in Boston was lovely and interesting and delightful and fun, and I had a wonderful time catching up with family and friends in the warm(er) southlands over the last few days. But I am So. Ready. to be home. To be back in my office, on the bus or the bike, drinking coffee at my coffeeshop, cooking quinoa and black beans in my kitchen. I like my routines. I love to travel and explore, but after a month I want to be home. Putting aside the discombobulation of living out of a suitcase, depending on others for rides, and constantly pulling out a map. Settling back in.
Three more hours until the flight, 14 hours in the air, and a layover somewhere in there. Let's get going.