We pull into the station and prepare to abandon the little blue car in the wilds of Pontiac for a week, and I notice that my leather jacket--my nice bomber jacket that flatters my figure--has been stored in the car. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I would not be surprised to return to a broken window. And so I quickly rearrange my luggage to make room for a jacket that I fully expect to serve no more than a decorative function, making my AltaVista bag look prettier.
Last night the room's climate control went full out bug eyed crazy, the fans howling out arctic winds. They sent up a space heater, which did help, but are still addressing the root issue.
And so I'm sitting in front of the big floor to ceiling window curled up in my jacket, my hands wrapped around a glass of cocoa, watching the lightning storm.
This entry was originally posted at http://cyrano.dreamwidth.org/1142503.htm