I'm supposed to be in LA right now, for BEA, except I'm not. The story goes like this:
I got to the airport yesterday afternoon. I went through security. I lugged my heavy laptop through the terminal with me; I was a little bit late, so I got on the plane immediately. I kept thinking that perhaps Newark airport didn't have the air conditioning on high enough, since I was very warm, and it was an exceptionally humid and hot day in NJ.
So I sat on the plane, squished in, but happy that it was a 757. I got my own little TV screen! This was getting better and better. I could deal with being hot, if I had my own TV to watch on the plane ride to the west coast. And then they closed the cabin door, and I was promptly, violently ill.
So ill, in fact, that the Continental employees removed me from the aircraft, and called a paramedic.
In hindsight, this was an exceptionally intelligent decision on their part, because a half hour later, I proceeded to be even more violently ill, and they probably would have had to turn the plane around. (And wouldn't that have been fun, having 300 passengers pissed off at me?)
Anyway, my suitcase took a nice vacation to LAX, and I went home with Chris. I'm up at the moment because my dear, wonderful husband, who I am so happy I married, is putting clean sheets on the bed. And then I'm going to be resting. In fact, he's done now. So I'm off to sleep, and I'm sure the suitcase had a lovely trip without me. It's back in NJ now, and scheduled to arrive at my house later this evening. I shall sadly wave at the convention I won't be attending.