So, Annette and I just barely got out of Cancun before Hurricane Beryl fucked things up for a lot of people. Here’s a story of escape in two pictures:
Literally, I’ve never seen anything as impressive as a flight crew trying to get a plane off the ground before a hurricane hits. As they were prepping the plane, the tarmac got slammed by a short-but-very-hard burst of rain and wind. And then it stopped. The lady in front of me snapped at a passenger behind me to get in their fucking seat, and I told her I had her back. Annette pointed out I’m in no condition to do much of anything, but I. Was. Ready.
We’ll be touching down in SFO between 8-9pm, and then backtracking to LAX, arriving around midnight. I can’t be in my own bed fast enough. Brief aside: I know the answer’s “yes,” but Jesus Christ, it’s 2024, is the no smoking sign really still necessary?
They also have to remind people it’s a federal crime to disable smoke detectors in airplane bathrooms. People caught doing that should be grounded for a century, along with their entire lineage. Anyway, fingers crossed there continues to be no hassles with the travel.
Tomorrow morning, I have to go to urgent care to have a Kaiser doctor look at my Freddy Krueger feet and give me a referral to a specialist.
The remaining anxiety is just health related. Since being diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes ten years ago, my greatest fear, rational or otherwise, has been the thought of losing my feet. I like walking around and shit. God willing, my feet heal, and I can get myself back to the gym (and get my body back to a place that makes me happier).
I have some remaining guilt for fucking up our 20th anniversary trip, but I know how I operate; I’ll be over it soon enough (I’ll ALWAYS fucking cringe though).
Last thing: it’s mind blowing to me that I’m writing all this, uploading pics, editing, blah blah blah, from a device slightly larger than a pack of cards, on a plane. Pretty cool.
More soon.