As I write this, you’re attending a trade show in Massachusetts. It’s always a little strange when you’re on my side of the country. First of all our daily Vox routine gets disrupted. Early bird that you are, you’re up at least an hour before I am, jet lag be damned, and that means you vox first. Usually it’s the other way around. It’s fun to listen to you while I’m drinking my coffee, but strange all the same, since I’m used to getting all your news while I’m making my lunch.
Also, I feel like if we’re on the same coast, we ought to get together! Okay, so we’re still 700 miles apart, but that’s 1800 miles closer than we usually are. You’d think we would take advantage of this situation!
I was thinking this morning that you and I are alike in so many ways, but there are a few notable exceptions. That early bird thing of yours, for one. The only reason I get up before 9:30 is that Travis needs to be let out to do his business. I’m actually grateful that I’m forced out of bed earlier than I’d like, because I get more done in the quiet of the morning than in the hustle and bustle of the afternoon hours. All the same, I’m a night owl by nature, and I wonder once my little pup has gone on to the Great Squirrel Hunting Grounds in the Sky if I won’t revert to my “late to bed, late to rise” habits of yore.
You also anticipate travel with much more aplomb than I do. I’m headed to the Iowa Quilt Festival in a couple of weeks and I’ve been worried about it since February. Not the Festival–the Festival will be loads of fun!–but the getting there. Clifton and I had planned to drive, but then a new work project meant Clifton couldn’t take the time off for the long trip there and back. So now I’m flying by myself. I hate flying, in part because I find it uncomfortable and I’m prone to motion sickness. Mostly, though, I hate airports. Everybody always looks so lonely and bored, and it makes me sad.
You, on the other, have flown cross-country twice this year with seemingly nary a thought. Unlike me, you don’t obsess over whether or not to check your bag or carry it on, and you don’t seem to have much concern about flying other than to worry that you might bring the wrong knitting project with you. You are a brave and nonchalant traveler, and I admire you for it enormously.
Finally, you left on this business trip of yours actually looking forward to it! You looked forward to spending time with other people! Like me, you work at home; unlike me, you actually miss the social interactions of working in an office. Mingling. Chatting. Now, there are some situations where I look forward to mingling and chatting–the Iowa Quilt Festival, for instance–but I know I will pay the price for my social joie de vivre. I will be drained and lifeless upon my return, emptied of words. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but not much of one. So imagine me on a business trip, one devoid of quilts, one where I have to talk, well, business. Where I have to be Professional Frances, author of books, talker of talks. I never look forward to these kind of trips (though they’re usually not so bad once I get there).
I know you won’t have time to reply this week, but I look forward to hearing from you when you get home and things get back to normal. Hope you’re having fun!