Three Hours Ahead

The four short days I spent in San Francisco before hopping on my flight to New York were the four most stressful days I have had in a very long time. All of my first quarter of adjusting to college life and the first of many hellish finals weeks to come combined did not even begin to come close to how stressed out I was by the time I walked into the cabin of my jetBlue plane on the night of the fourth day.

I could not even find solace in baking - the one task on my long to-do list that I was actually looking forward to doing while at home.

There was less than two hours left on the clock before I had to leave for the airport, a mountain of undecorated cookies was glaring menacingly at me from their designated "cookie cooling spot" on the counter, all of the clothes I had brought home in the huge duffel bag that I had to summon my "Super Girl" strength in order to carry all the way from San Diego back to San Francisco with me were strewn haphazardly on the floor of my room, I still needed to shower because my hair was unspeakably disgusting, AND THE FUCKING WHITE CHOCOLATE SEZIED ON ME.

Seriously???

Sneaky drop of water in the bowl I tried to melt my white chocolate in?

Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyoufuckyou.

Long airport procedures made even longer by the entire jetBlue computer system throughout the airport going on the fritz the moment I got up to the counter and gave my name to the friendly face and a long, cross-country, red-eye flight FULL of parents with young children who all felt the need to scream their heads off for the full four hour and forty-five minute flight (not counting the hour or so I had to wait on the plane before the scheduled take-off time, thanks to the fucking computer system) did nothing to alleviate any of the pent up stress.

Being the filling of the screaming-child sandwich for nearly six fucking hours thanks to my seating arrangement nearly drove me CRAZY; I was a cranky and very sleep-deprived zombie upon landing and having to wait over half an hour for my bags just gave me more bitterness with which to fan the fire of the horrible wrath of vengeance I was about to release on the unsuspecting New York City.

Fielding call after call from relatives, especially ones who speak in nasally voices and refuse to end one-sided "conversations," all day was almost more exhausting than my flight.

Is it crazy that the only relative I enjoyed talking to on the phone was the one person I was not related to by blood?

I was going to go see the Rockettes on Christmas Eve courtesy of one of my suburban aunts, but apparently something went wrong with her ticket order so we won't be going this year. Instead, I will most likely be skiing down some snow-covered mountain.

Yes, skiing.

Only my non-blood related aunt would be able to convince my uncoordinated self to spend the holidays with her family on some mountain, risking a broken leg and possibly being beat out by my single-digit aged cousins on the slopes.

By the way, forty degrees here is "uncharacteristically warm."

And it started raining.

Ahhh...