I knew the trip to GR would be exhausting. It's a crazy long flight from here. SW to NE via the south. It was great to see a few people. I made two new friends of the guy who now has my job and his partner. I ran by my old house and through the college. I sat outside in the near-perfect temperatures. The air was thick with oxygen and water and bird noises and city sounds. I stayed out until too late with my old students, whom I love. I went to a lovely wedding and made better friends with friends I'd left behind. But. Friday was a loss from the too-much-with-students night. I slept in until 10 almost every day. So whatever hopes of this becoming a writing retreat quickly fled from me.
And flying is killing me. It's the rush to get there and the attempt to rush the plane to make your connection and the freak out if I should have carried on my luggage and the fear of making your almost-brand-new friends wait for you at the airport. And the turbulence and near-death experiences.
I hurt my neck again too. Like the last time I traveled frantically, I think it was to Chicago, I hurt my shoulder carrying too much stuff on it. It's been 5 days now and I can barely move my neck. I'm supposed to be having last fun of the summer with Z but mostly I just say ow. Ow.
But the truest ow is that Little Hands and son are sick. He's been in the hospital for at least three nights now. I'm pretty sure the Hotel California means the Children's Hospital. I'm worried and sad for them. I had bad dreams last night remembering Z's incarceration. I would feel better about things if the doctors ever knew what was going on but with viruses, they seem completely idiotic. IV fluids and a lot of hemming and hawing. You can hem and haw. I'm going home to quarantine myself, I want to say.
I wish I could do more but I can't even offer the IV fluids.
Oh, and school starts. Soon. And my syllabi ? They're MIA. Poor syllabi, lost in the forest of my computer. Perhaps they'll find their way into shape and home soon.