Big deal, time changes every second

Ventured out yesterday for a hotel explore, drink and snack. Booked a tour for tomorrow. Was told by event manager (who was silently judging me) that since "you have no friends or family then best it is you take your drink in your room madam" and therefore was put off paying exorbitant money for "gala celebration dinner" for NYE.

Also coughing like a racehorse after a sprint. Started antibiotics again. Will find a doctor if this persists since do not want hideous tropical disease and wish to live well into old age.

Took my drink in my room and went to bed at 11 pm. Happy New Year.

The wonderful thing about watching Tamil movies is that you don't have to know the language to get it

All heros transcend time. 50 year old uncles can be college students and can squash 20 men and slice a bullet (or a cucumber) with a blade. During every song sequence, the hero will put his hands together for a namaste with a wink. The sidekick will always try his luck with the hottest girl in college and be rejected with multiple slaps. The gang of villains travels in a well-stocked SUV with readily available cycle chains, knives and glass bottles. When it's time for good-guy-bad-guy face-off, the hero will yell "DAI!" and point a finger at the bad man with a frowning brow and eyes all popping out. This is a cue for his shirt buttons to mysteriously open. After eventually emerging victorious, the girl will kiss him chastely on the cheek and fans will blow his his face to have his hair indicate joy.

Also, Rajnikant will never age.

Your bad decisions are merely good learning experiences

ITC Sheraton Rajputana, Jaipur.

Dreamt strange dreams about Ro and Rags and Jasmine and we were on a boat and the crows were attacking me again and we had to give money to Sushmita’s family. Soft bed but uncomfortable night. Slept till 11 am. Room’s nice, lots of sensors and electronics. Bathroom light is on sensors which is useful. Tub is very small. Floor is this lovely green marble. View is of the verandah and swimming pool. Mini-bar has dark fantasy cookies (Oreos) and good coffee (French press and all) so that’s breakfast. Found Oye Pudina Bingo chips which are earmarked for later. Waking up every 2-3 hours means that all devices have been charged in sequence. Now if I could only muster the energy to get dressed and head out.

Maybe I’ll just watch the tele and read India Today for a little while.

Oh look, Rajnikant and Ash Rai robot movie!

You must be equally capable of experiencing anger and of controlling it

In purgatory. Or in transit, as the case may be.

Leave 2:30 am for Colombo airport looking an absolute horror in (are you ready for this?): black Sketchers, black socks, grey patterned leggings, white kurta, yellow tank top, oily as all heck, hair doing mad curly things with middle parting, terribly sunburnt and red all over, reeking of lemongrass and coconut. Do not look like 33 year old management consultant. Do look like tribal hippy of indeterminate origin.

Hoping the oil massage last night helps the burns. Very uncomfortable now. Want to rip off clothes and roll around in aloe. Think locals may not like that.

Lots of security around airport. Army checkpoints the entire way. Multiple bag screenings. Checked luggage is 22.1 kgs (allowance is 23). Will have to shed some load before can shop in Jaipur. Total shopping so far is two very lovely water buffalo leather bags and one wall hanging.

I shall now investigate my ‘breakfast packet’ that the hotel kindly prepared at 2 am, consisting of two hard boiled eggs, one very stale croissant, one banana and a fish sandwich. Because, you know, you want to mix bananas, eggs and fish for breakfast.

I know I’m on a flight to Delhi because behind me I hear one suit asking another if he wants namkeen snacks.

So the thing about Delhi airport in winter (or whatever you want to call 20 degrees C) is that there is fog. So “no landing or taking off is happening” said the pilot, after we circled for an hour. So we were diverted to Jaipur. Which, being my final destination, they naturally did not let me off the plane. We sat on the tarmac for 2 hours. They gave us “vegetable sandwiches madam” which consisted of three triangles of stale white bread held together with some creamy white stuff and some chopped up bits of what I dearly hope was carrot distributed from a cardboard box on round paper plates. Then we took off for Delhi, circled for another hour, landed, sat on the tarmac for another 30 minutes and finally disembarked. Ran to immigration where there were no landing forms to be found, hunted some down, discovered my pen writes on all materials except those issued by the Indian government and brazenly limped over to the Special Assistance queue since the regular one was too long to comprehend let alone join. Waited for an hour. Looked over wistfully at the regular queue but was gladdened to find it had not moved either. Immigration officer IS Ghanghas (yes, that’s his name) was yelling and abusing an over made up Afghani woman with child for being ignorant and useless. Ah India.

My turn. Apparently possessing an Indian passport isn’t enough to get you into India. You also have to provide evidence of last entry and exit. Which was in the last expired passport. Which is safely ensconced in its waterproof packet back in Boston along with the rest of the things-to-be-kept-safe. Plus when one’s passports have been issued from New York and Chicago, this triggers the hulk in IS officers who then start to abuse you for being ignorant and useless. This went on for about 3 hours. Everybody else around him had sympathy for my poor feet but not him. I was invited to sit in the immigration office for about 20 minutes before I had to get back in line to be yelled at some more. Giving them the last date of entry to be either Dec 1999 or 2000 (who remembers what happened over 10 years ago?!), and having endured lots of abusing on the subject of foreign-born Indians who have never lived in Delhi (that one really got his goat), they finally found me under a misspelled name in their records. Which he then grudgingly wrote up on two pieces of paper with a carbon in between as “most likely entered under…”, stapled lots of things together and waved me through.

I crawl, broken, filthy (stupid sofa in the immigration office bled on my kurta), dejected and morose to find fit and crisp Jet Airways people hanging on to my bag and rush in and out of various checkpoints to get to the domestic terminal. Wait in one line for re-ticketing (since have missed Jaipur flight by now) for 40 minutes. Told to go to another line. Waited in that line for one hour. Got reticketed for a flight in an hour. Ran to check-in and bag drop. Bullied my way through the front. Ran to security. Got yelled at for not having bag tags. Ran around looking for bag tags. Went through security – twice. Ran to gate. Got on sad little bus to be shuttled to the end of the runway system to board dinky two propeller situation with very hunky Surd steward. Fell asleep in seat. Woke up in Jaipur at 8:30 pm.

Car to hotel, lots of construction, check-in, long and painful shower, unpack, order room service, watch Kaalia, fall asleep at 11 pm. It’s been a long day.

Happy birthday, ma.

When you quiet the outside world, your own heartbeat may deafen you

Avani Resort and Spa, Bentota beach, Bentota. I see the ocean. We arrive at sunset so the sky is doing all sorts of breathtaking orange and purple things. Check-in takes forever, as usual, then we go stand on the beach and stare at the sky. Resort is nice, very new.

Dinner, drink, bed.

Wake, walk on the beach at sunrise, breakfast, swimming in the ocean, swimming in the pool, drink, eat, swimming in the ocean, swimming in the pool. Ashan and I made crabs. That sounds dirty, but it isn’t. Champagne and appetizers at sunset. Oil massage. Dinner by candlelight at beach end. The moon did funny things in that it appeared in an instant when the sun went down and then over the span of 2-3 hours, it moved across the night sky from overhead to over the ocean and then dipped below the horizon. The stars were also odd. All clustered overhead and to the east but not a single one to be seen over the ocean on the west. Stared at the ocean with mouth slightly ajar not believing that the sky could be so pretty, the sand could be so soft, the water could be so warm.

Ashan won't let us go to the Reggae Celebration at the Ganja Palace tonight. Life is hard sometimes.

Force does not encourage submission, only the temporary illusion of it

The Lankan way of driving is very interesting. I offer an explanation. Picture, if you will a two lane road. One lane goes one way. The other lane goes the other way. If we’re driving down the right (as we do in the subcontinent) and we wish to overtake the person in front of us, we accelerate up to about 3.5 inches from his rear bumper and honk. Then we move into the lane of oncoming traffic. You, the public, would think that we would both check that lane for clearance and speed up at this point. Not so. We continue at the same pace until we see the whites of the eyes of oncoming traffic, then we swerve into our lane, thereby either cutting off the person behind us or bashing into them who also has not changed their speed, who then honks at us. If the person in front of us wishes to overtake the person in front of them, while we wish to do the same, there is a crucial game of hopscotch played whereby they overtake (see notes above), then we overtake (in the same way) but at no point do we return to our own lane until oncoming traffic flashes their lights at us, honking, at which point we do not check out blind spot but offer a silent prayer to the heavens and swerve and brake hard at the same time. At this point, everybody honks. Perhaps to indicate that the transaction has been successful and that we’re still alive, bruises notwithstanding.

I’m convinced that Asailorman is trying to kill us for our gold. Joke’s on him since we don’t have any. The wind and vibrations of the window sound like heartbeats, probably the ghosts of those who have perished in this van before us so I will put in my headphones and drift away now.

Fun fact: Nitin Sawhney wrote a song about how falling can be confused for flying and Jeff Bridges sang another one about how it’s funny how falling feels like flying sometimes. Coincidence?

Life is not a race. Even if you stay still you'll hit the finish line

Dambulla to Bentota
Up early, didn’t sleep well, Lauren has gastric distress. Shower, breakfast, pharmacy run (one strip Imodium please), pack, check out (which took nearly 40 minutes) and off to Sigiriya. We punted on this one even though shorts and sports shoes were carefully chosen to combat heat and many steps. The spirit and flesh were both weak here. Before you judge, consider that it is indeed very high. “On towards the beach” was the rousing cry and we hit the road again.

Stopped for lunch at a puff place to eat fish sammiches.

A true leader stands among the group, not in front

Dambulla
Inamaluwe Sri Sumangala Maha Thera Rock Temple and Golden Temple – the world’s largest Buddha statue in front of these rock caves. The giant statue is relatively new, built in 2000 or so. The sun was doing its thing on it and it being gold painted was doing its thing on my eyes. The utter massiveness of it was just hard to comprehend. I think I am the size of the nail on the big toe. There are these monk statues up the side of the mountain that approach the statue with offerings. Women sitting up there chanting and glaring at us for being tourists. Back down the steps to go up to the rock caves.

Indescribable. Both – the magnificence of human creation when properly motivated and the pain in my feet when I finally got to the top. Almost dinna make it but Ashan was sweet and encouraging and patient with me and I found the strength. So glad I did.

There are these caves you see. Inside which are these massive Buddha statues and paintings on the walls and ceilings. It’s dark and musty inside which makes you feel very Lara Croft (but I bet she wouldn’t pant like a racehorse if she had to get up there). The rock walls and ceilings were plastered and then painted over and with subsequent erosion of plaster (or whatever the 1500s equivalent was back then), bits of the paintings come off. The statues are simultaneously eerie and calming. Managed to salvage some lotus flowers from the vicious attacks of monkeys outside so offered them (only the petals, not the stems). Do not have the words to describe how the paintings clung to the ridges in the rocks so you’ll just have to make do with probably inadequate pictures when I get to put them up. The effect of being in those caves is nothing like I’ve ever felt. Scared, awed, sneezy, frightened, comforted, intrigued and mystified all at the same time. You’ll have to take your children there one day. It’s well worth the journey.

Did not fall on the way down. Very proud of that.

Off to the Cinnamon Lodge to rest the achy feet. Ashan very sweet in suggesting that we put Sigiriya Rock off to tomorrow since that involves even more climbing. Crashed for a bit, washed the filth off, watched bits of Jackie Chan on the tele and then staggered off to buffet dinner, trying not to fall into the massive swimming pool. Lots of tourists here. The Lodge grounds is on the edge of a river (too far to walk to), pool with three sections (teeming with snotty kids), outdoor reception and restaurant (tres cool) and wait staff that wear yellow loongis (“Sarongs!” yells Ashan). Lauren ate pesto creamy pasta which she regretted the next day. I ate bhindi ki subzi and roast lamb. Little cold room which housed yummy chocolaty goodness with a lovely centerpiece made with spun sugar and fondant and other things to resemble wildflowers. Wanted to break off a piece and eat it Willy Wonka style but was being watched by over-eager yellow loongis.

Dreamt that my blue Honda CR-V was switched to a red one by someone who took the wrong keys and this upset me greatly. Ashan came to help but he was distracted by climbing scaffolding and making jokes with a man from Hong Kong. Wonder what this means. We will never know why my subconscious is the way it is.

The heaviness of body must be weighed against the lightness of spirit

Kandy
Poor man had to lug my suitcase back up three flights of stairs. I swear it’s gotten heavier – how, I don’t know. Dropped my electric toothbrush (courtesy BIL) in the shower but I am my mother’s child so it is back-up manual for the rest of the trip.

Buffet breakfast (buffoobaabaa!) with lovely porkies and passionfruit (v. tart) with a lovely view. Off to the Temple of the Tooth Relic.

Dalada Maligawa – Temple of the Tooth. The sacred Tooth Relic is housed here. It is said that on attaining Nibbana, the Buddha was cremated but some of his mortal remains were rescued from the ashes. His left eye-tooth was taken to the Kalinga Kingdom in India, where it remained for seven centuries. However, Hindi militant resurgence forced King Guhasiva of Kalinga to conceal the Relic in the tresses of his daughter Hemamala’s hair. She was then spirited away to Lanka and after she arrived in Anuradhapura, a special temple was built to house the Relic and paraded through the streets on the back of an albino elephant (!). With invasions from South India, the Tooth Relic took on extra significance, for it is believed that whoever possessed it had the right to rule the island. It was then captured and taken to India again and King Parakramabahu had to wage war to regain it. It then moved around a lot and was then brought to Kandy in the 1500s and this temple was built to house it.

Ashan has hobbit feet; he leaves his shoes in the car. Not I who stuffs Sketchers in my purse as an orthopedic security blanket. Lauren had to be adjusted.

The Temple grounds are immense. Flanked on one side by the reservoir, palace on another and hilly outcrop with Vishnu temple on third. There’s the actual Buddhist temple, a Vishnu temple, museum and Bodhi tree with lots of little standalone rooms with assorted Hindu gods and goddesses. Did those first. A little prayer, a little reflection, some gawking. People watering the tree with brightly colored plastic matkas (offering #1).

Inside the Tooth Relic Temple through security. Terrorists tried to blow up the place in 1998. They have replaced the moonstone since. Ashan got us a guide who helpfully read out the English signs with EXTREMELY bad breath.

Moat around the place, a passage through which the annual elephant procession passes that takes the Relic… somewhere! We didn’t think to ask! And in case you can’t figure it out, there are paintings up by the ceiling showing the scene. Very Egyptian.

Inside the Temple building, four men drumming and an invisible shehnai-type fellow belting out a tune that sounds suspiciously like an aarti. Buy some lotus flowers (offering #2), up the steps being squashed by humanity. The Relic is behind closed doors of gilded wood but that doesn’t deter the devotees. Lots of people sitting underfoot and chanting. Down the stairs, large paintings of Hindu gods, into the library room which houses ancient manuscripts. Offerings include boxes of agarbattis, camphor and one very shiny very small gold tree.

Out the back door, past large cast iron bells into the “museum” that tells the story of the Relic. Beautiful marble statues of The Buddha in various hand poses underneath each painted scene. Solid. Serene. Smooth. With delicate eyes and flowing robes. In that way that statue artisans make marble robes flow.

Outside, areas where rituals take place under a large timber roof supported by finely carved wooden pillars. A glass room for lighting diyas for offering #3. Into the place where they keep a taxidermed Rajah the elephant who used to be the main tusker to carry the Relic at procession time. He’s dead now. The current elephant is kept in another area but he’s out of his mind and in heat so we decided that this combination does not suit us to gape. Out into the Vishnu temple which had many steps. Had a prayer said for me and Ashan who’s hoping we’re not married now.

Walk past Ashan’s great great great granduncle’s statue that wot did lots of good things for Buddhism – enough to warrant a statue at one of the holiest places of the religion. Ashan didn’t want his picture taken with it. But then again, he doesn’t want his picture taken with anything. He’s shy like that and thinks he’s above creating memories. But when you do take his photo, he turns into a preening peacock. Complex man him. Lots of stray (?) roosters and monkeys.

Walk by the embankment back to the car past the shops that sell offerings. Lovely smells of pretty lotus flowers. Man selling mango slices in a bag with chili powder. BIL would’ve liked that but I decided not to invite death into my colon today. Off to the last temple of the trip.

Palm trees bring a sense of calm. The most important choice is to choose to choose.

Hilton Colombo highly recommended. Front-desk man gave us free breakfasts too.

Off to Kandy. The crows here in Sri Lanka are direct descendants of those used by Hitchcock and have it in for me. Been attacked at least twice now. Lauren and Ashan say I’m hallucinating but I see them. Watching me. Waiting for me to move so they can swoop and advance with beaks.

Suppose I could lay off the cough syrup.

Have booked white van with good Singhala driver so we don’t have to worry about Ashan killing us in a horrific cliff accident. Which might happen anyway, but at least this way, we won’t nag him about it. His name is Asailorman (I swear it is) and he likes Kanye West. We know because we listened to his Kanye West cd for 4 hours.

By the way, everything in Sri Lanka is a different price for foreigners. Nobody here thinks I’m Indian. Prolly since very white skin. Ashan extremely unhelpful when it comes to this stuff since is ashamed of his heritage, poor misguided child. Insists he is not local until he has to pay the higher price. Translation skills are useless since driver talks for two whole minutes and Ashan conveys three words which after careful probing have nothing to do with wot drive said. Have resorted to hand signals and head shaking to converse with him directly.

Pinnewala Elephant Orphanage. Lauren squeals the entire time. Saw the elephants bathing in this river/stream. Made friends with one mama who kept advancing towards me and posing for a photo. The babies are so little! They gambol (yes, they do) and play and the cuteness just cannot be described. Very wrinkly leathered hairy hide, tough on top and hard underneath. Don’t mind being petted. Not scary at all. Lauren fed Komali some baskets of fruits and kissed her on the trunk, much to the amusement of the natives. Ashan was persuaded to feed milk bottle to one baby after which he demanded he be rinsed off with Purell. Bought a lovely Buddha wall hanging and a gorgeous leather handbag with superb haggling skills.

Off inland towards Central Sri Lanka and Maha Nuwara Kandy (which is a UNESCO World Heritage Site dontchaknow) at the foothills of the central highlands “steeped in history and possessing a salubrious climate”. Have undertaken The Great Eyebrow Experiment of 2011 whereby I shall not pluck until I am Armenian bushy and on my last day in India, I shall get them nicely done once and for all. Curls starting to rehydrate, skin starting to refresh and feeling of heaviness starting to lift. Let’s hope it continues.

Gadaladeniya Temple. Built in the 1300s by King Bhuvanekabahu IV and stands on a rock outcrop. Moonstone (which is stone carved into moonshape) and Gajasinha (half elephant and half lion) at the entrance. Some discolored paintings which are South Indian in style since artisans imported. One seated Buddha statue inside and one Vishnu Dewale on the side.

Lankatilaka Vihara Temple. “Crown of Lanka” also on a rock outcrop with inscriptions on the rock (in the rock?) in Tamil and Singhalese by King Bhuvanekabahu IV (cat built a lot of temples, man) and King Vikremabahu III – both from the 1300s. History has it that a monk saw a golden vase floating on the surface of a nearby tank and the King took this as an auspicious sign and had the temple built. You have to walk up these really steep short steps cut into the rock face to get up there but the view is lovely at the top. There is a Dewale with Ganesh, Skanda, Saman, Vishnu and Vibishana. Lots of Hindu gods at Buddhist temples as you can see. One sitting statue of Buddha, all gold painted and incredibly massive – at least 40 feet tall. The sheer size of the statues in these things makes you want to stare and stare. The walls and ceilings covered in frescos but very ancient so faded now.

Ate not so nice lunch at roadside place but was hungry so ate a lot of it.

Up and down and around windy roads past the Udawattekelle (which is a Forbidden Forest) to Chaya Citadel Hotel. Too tired to fully appreciate the loveliness of this one but did get glimpse of pool at rock edge. Balcony is a ledge cut out into the rock of which I shall take pictures when it’s light. Skipped dinner (partly to avoid travel companions, since they be getting on my nerves now), watched Dus (crap movie) and went to bed early since feets ache from all that barefoot clambering up rock. Only one night here which is a shame but onwards we must!

Light starting to break over my rock-face balcony. I shall make coffee and sit with the birds in the dewy mist.

Lanka lashka denge

Colombo

Proper sick now. Waited hours for Ashan to show this morning who arrived only to be sent back to bed since he looked dead on his feet and seemed to have lost 5lbs. For those of you who know him, he doesn’t have 5lbs to spare. Took the hotel car for a driveabout – first stop, Pharmacy please.

Went to the Gangaramaya Temple which was beautiful and odd. Large room with giant statues (standing Buddha) and lovely paintings but with a set of back and side rooms with thousands of relics in glass cases which seemed pointless and very dusty.

Driver insistent on showing us a good time and we broke his heart when we returned early since saw a lot yesterday. Got taken to a shady sari place looking for Lousie’s present but didn’t find it very inspiring.

Back to the hotel, nap by the pool, mosquitoes, slept all evening and night.

Ayobowan. Given time to grow, the scratchiest beard softens.

Colombo

Arrived early this morning. Immigration uneventful. Ashan and Lauren waiting. Off to the Hilton. Felt my eyes rehydrate and curls wake up in surprise of humidity. Check-in. Idlis for breakfast. Off to see some sights.

Independence Square, Ashan’s Royal College & Sports Club, bank to change some money, back to the hotel for a lie by the pool in one of those bed cabanas and some laps.

Made friends with fat Punjabi munde (Surdi, Happy Feet and Tanvir). Drank an LIT (that’s wot the kool kids in India call it) and got mocked for my gripping control of the Punjabi language.

Napped from 4 to 8 pm so missed sunset but then feasted on a lovely dinner buffet at the hotel on fresh crabs in pepper sauce, coconut fish curry, roomali egg rotis, all made to order, finished with Bombay Halwa and chocolate pudding and nice Shiraz. Cool breezes from the Indian Ocean, Sri Lankan mariachi band (playing Dad’s favorite song about the girl he left in Kingston Town) who sang in proper Spanish and very good wait staff.

I love good service. You forget about that when you’re in the US for so long.

Money in large denominations here – got SLR 24,000 for my $200. Wonder where to spend it all… Shall hold out for nice souvenirs. Got a postcard for Black Cobra.

Fell asleep watching South Africa vs. Australia one-day on Ten Cricket, listening to the sound of the ocean and the occasional firecracker. View of the Ocean from my bed is phenomenal. Take my advice, always coff up for the good rooms. Makes you feel rum waking up to water.

Life is starting to look good again. Feel a tickle in my throat though.

Wahid Starbucks Winter Latte, minfadlak

Amman airport, 10 hours later

Uneventful. Watched The Help and cried buckets. Very good movie.

Madame Bovary is a stupid book.

Took me twice as long to watch Crazy, Stupid, Love mostly because I kept stopping it to letch at Gosling.

First half of Pirates to reaffirm that Penelope Cruz does in fact annoy me.

Waiting for Colombo now, trying not to buy overpriced Jordanian wine and Dead Sea face masks, controlling the urge to strangle the parents of screaming children.

Must remember to buy Arabic cookbook upon return. Sorry Black Cobra, no post office here.

National football team is here. Sadly not hunky. Noisy though and giving speeches to much laudation.

The pervasive perfumery is quite nice and wonderfully contrasts the BO. Maybe government officials cannot afford soap under Abdallah’s regime (political joke! political joke!)

Music to buy: Macadi Nahhas, Rim Banna, Jadal, Rum and DJ Shadia.
Books to read: Gurbaksh Chahal – The Dream.

To both the young and old, time is a distant shore

So here I sit at JFK, waiting to board for Amman on the Princess Salma Bint Abdulla (why didn’t I get a plane named after me when I was 14?!).

There are two BU girls sitting next to me attracting very cute Harvard Jordanian coed bilingual and anti-my-parents-have-so-much-money-but-deep-down-inside-I’m-a-hippy-man attention. It’s so exciting to see the youth of today. Makes you want to alternatively drown yourself and take a Pol Sci class. Then you remember you hate school and move to a different set of very uncomfortable airport seats.

Dinna get to call everybody before I left so if you’re reading this, happy holidays and all that. Blame it on the sucky Seattle trip this week. Did message Jasmine who recommends spicy food at Laal Maas in Amritsar – must remember that – not sure if the constitution can take eating at a place named Red Meat but we shall die trying!

Why do undergrads drink so much Gatorade?

Slept from takeoff to landing from BOS to JFK. Feeling tired and old and dried out and fat. Excitement waxing and waning. Going to read Madame Bovary now.

Forgive me Blogspot, for I have sinned. It's been over a year since my last post.

Just off the red-eye with no desire to get on another plane for a long time. Maybe planning a vacation so far away wasn't that wise. Should've just stayed at home and played Unchartered on my GIANT TELEVISION.

There are pillows everywhere. I had forgotten that it was pillow-cleaning time last weekend and that I never finished. So it only looks like I've been robbed but everything is still here but just in a mess.

I'll get to it in a minute.

I have to finish packing for Epic Vacation Trip. As always, I have prolly packed the wrong clothes but I couldn't be bothered to fix it.

I'll get to it in a minute.

I have to clean out the laptop and load it with new stuff for the journey.

I'll get to it in a minute.

I have to make an intelligent carry-on bag too. And find a travel purse.

I'll get to it in a minute.

I should prolly check-in too.

I'll get to it in a minute...