"Random kisses are of the utmost importance."
That's right, folks, I'm back-- and sappy.
Distance makes the heart grow fonder and all that jazz :).
I have completed which is hopefully my last Greyhound trip *ever*.
(Knock on wood.)
As we were unloading my suitcases stuffed with butter tarts in every possible gap, I commented to my father that the number of people waiting nearly guaranteed that I would have to share a seat with someone, meaning a serious lack of slumber. He told me to be optimistic. I told him that after three canceled flights and a stolen credit card over the holidays, I had officially given up on optimism.
Ironically enough, the trip started reasonably well.
The bus was busy, given the epic failure of any flights to depart for days, but with a more eclectic and safe feeling crowd than the usual night bus crew.
Plus, one of my close friends, whose ride had, unbeknownst to me, fallen through, happened to saunter onto the bus at the stop after I hopped on, providing me with a fabulous traveling companion.
As I stared out the window into the darkness, headphones on, nearing the halfway point, I thought "Maybe this won't be as horrible as I predicted after all".
But, alas, I spoke to soon.
Not only were we painfully behind schedule due to the slush squelching beneath the bus wheels, but, soon after that little bout of optimism, we were stopped by the police in the middle of the highway, and told we would have to wait for a sand truck to arrive, because the roads were an ice rink of sorts.
And there we waited for an hour.
We arrived at the transfer point more than two hours behind schedule. When a bus finally arrived (as we'd long ago missed the connecting bus), we marched on in a daze, only to receive the announcement that there was still no driver on the premises. Delirious, given it was past 1 am, I started laughing hysterically at this point.
We arrived. Eventually. With a fitful sleep in between that led to me actually having bruised knees due to ill-placed arm rests.
And, a very thankful girl, I crawled into my own bed at 8am, and curled up against the warm body who had been waiting for me for nearly two days (or several weeks, depending which way you look at it).
The unhappy ending to this story is that, because of this unforeseen delay, I have been forced to compact all my errands, unpacking, preparation, and, yes, romance, into a much shorter time than planned. Grad student life waits for no one, apparently.
So I leave you all with a few more shots of my trip, namely the phenomenal icicle decorating my parents' house, and promises that I will have less mundane tales and be around to visit soon.