(This was actually written two weeks ago! I procrastinated on posting it, on starting this blog in the first place, because I couldn't think of a good name for it. I owe the name to Adrian S., and to The Magnetic Fields a little too, by the way. Thank you.)

So it begins… kind of. I am sitting in the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport, awaiting my two-hours-delayed flight home to Chicago. Should get me into O’Hare around 10:30 p.m., where I’ll meet my parents and sisters (hooray!) and then drive the forty-five minutes home.

So the narrative starts here. In part, because I feel like some part of a trip is the anticipation of it. Also, because I know my break will be unbelievably short and packed, so if I don’t start here, I’ll manage to keep putting it off ‘til I figure there’s no point to it anymore. And finally, because I still have at least another hour until we even board. I’m tempted to keep a handwritten journal (I’m a sucker for the romance), but I’m having an unusually honest moment with myself that leads me to confess my persistent laziness—so typing is the more likely medium for me.

Sitting here amidst all these Chicago-bound passengers makes me more conscious of the pretty preppy and neutral-tones fashion sense many of its residents adhere to. I am sitting here in a pair of birks, worn-out navy dockers, a bright orange-red sweater (Yael, that color recognition is for you), and a green scarf. And I feel like I smell—you know, nothing rank, just that I’ve-been-traveling-for-a-while smell. My cuticles are all cut up from packing accidents yesterday, my MacBook is perched contentedly on my lap, and my lower calves, just visible below my rolled-up pant legs, are hairy like any over-busy (and over-lazy) woman’s would be: I am definitely a college student.

Too much information? Probably, but recall my circumstances. Anyway, it’s been a crazy, sleep-deprived week. But I did it. And I’m here. And just hours away from home and relaxing and eating great food and being unproductive for a little while (yes!). One thing I learned this week: do not try to say your good-byes on two restless hours of sleep (sorry Adrian and Alana!)—the tears just keep a-flowin’…

Wow, what a semester. I will miss the women who nursed me through it, both at Scripps and not. You. are. wonderful. And I hope we meet up somehow this semester, at least those of us who have the geographical possibility of doing so. I will close this entry by sharing with you two humorous instances observed in the past ten seconds: 1) I looked up briefly and caught the look of shock on a fellow passenger’s face whose gaze was directed at my exposed right leg; and 2) this young couple traveling with a Chihuahua puppy is feeding her bottled water from the bottle cap.