Or Revoyer

This morning we brewed an extra-black pot of coffee (quote of the day from Airplane: "No, thank you, I take it black, like my men.") We cleaned the apartment something serious. We did the online check-in with British Airways, which worked out despite a few hiccups. We did one last jaunt around the island, leaping over the piles of dog shit and dodging the usual attempts of oblivious Parisian pedestrians to run into us. We picked up one more baguette tradition for us and some treats for our current bunny-sitter back home. We've just decided to abandon the idea of remaining completely sober tonight in favor of one last bottle of cotes du rhone, which should take up the last of our euros.

Tomorrow a van will hopefully arrive down in the street at 8:45am and take us to CDG. We fly from there to London, then have a very brief layover before hopping on a plane to SFO. I have anti-anxiety drugs queued up and ready to go and BA is one of those wonderful carriers that has those little personal video screens for each passenger on its international flights, so even though it's a 10-hour flight it shouldn't be too awful.

I fully expect to fall on my knees and kiss the floor when I reach the end of the ramp at SFO. Hopefully that isn't some kind of profile thing the TSA agents look out for ("He seems too happy to be returning from Europe. Strip search!")

I'm counting down the hours to big cups of coffee, riding the (Santa Cruz) Metro, tromping around UC to the SC's silly ewok village campus, cheap(er) food, going otter spotting, Dungeons and fucking Dragons w/ my gang of erudite dorks, and seeing my homies in California and Oregon in general.