I spent Thursday through Sunday in New York with the boyfriend. The weekend, and boyfriend, incredible. I had so much fun and if there was any question whether or not I have completely fallen in love (which there was not, for the record) there certainly could not be any doubt after that lovely weekend.
However, although I want to tell every little amazing detail about my weekend, I feel compelled to write about my trip back to CO from NY. It. was. awful.
We get to the airport and I spend the last minutes wishing with all my might that I could just stay there forever. When this doesn’t work (ha), I get this nervous feeling and kind of become light headed. Said the last goodbye’s, and made my way to my gate. It says: Delayed. TWO HOURS. I have a connecting flight that does not allow for a two hour delay so I begin to experience that nervousness again only more intensely. I ask the lady at the counter if there are any more flights from Detroit (where my connection is) to Denver. None going out the same day. Just as I am about to begin stressing about missing Monday’s classes, the lady makes an announcement: “sorry for the confusion, flight 1225 has arrived and will begin boarding shortly. The plane ride to Detroit was somber. There were seven or eight girls on the small flight whom all had boyfriends at WP. It was kind of therapeutic, as one girl put it, to have everyone going through the same thing, the long distance relationships and everything that comes along with WP/military/etc. We arrive in Detroit late, but not too late. I make it to the complete other side of the airport with four minutes to spare. Sighing with relief, I find my seat and open my backpack to find a note from the boyfriend.
I had so so much fun with you this weekend. You are an incredible woman; and I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again. Be Safe.
I smile, and realize I am very hungry…I had not been able to eat anything amidst all of the afternoon’s traveling and confusion. The plane ride was long and sad. I just wanted to get home as fast as possible. Little did I know getting home fast was not in my plans for the night.
When I got off the plane, it was 8:45pm. I grabbed my checked luggage and found where the shuttle was to get to my parked car. Looked at the number I wrote down so I could find my car. Got off the shuttle, very tired and very hungry. I walk to where I believe my car should be. It is not there. Ok, I think, maybe it’s a few more rows down. I walk farther down. Not there. Ok, maybe I wrote it down wrong. I walk to the other side of the parking lot, clicking my alarm the whole way to set off my car so I can find it. Nothing. Ok, maybe, I am just so tired that I did not see my car the first time. I walk back to where I just know I parked my car. pace back and forth, up and down with all my luggage looking carefully at every white car. None of them is mine. Panic ensues. I tell myself not to cry, crying will not help. I walk around some more and decide to call boyfriend. I don’t really know why I am calling other than maybe he has some bright idea that I can’t think of because I am currently panicking. He tells me to push the help button at the shuttle stop. I do this. The lady tells me my car is where I think it is. So I curse at myself for being stupid and go back to the row she says my car is. It is not there. I completely break down. I stood in the middle of a huge airport parking lot completely at a loss for words and cry. It is now past 10pm. I push the help button again and finally figure out that I am in the wrong parking lot. I had to shuttle back to the airport and get on a different shuttle to get to the right parking lot. My car is there, thank God.
Now, one might think, oh good, that turned out alright. Nope. I take the toll road–being the way that I got to the airport in the first place–because now it is late and I want to get home as fast as possible. Pay the two dollars and get on the correct freeway which should lead me to the Country Road I need. I know it should be about 15 miles, and at 20 miles on the freeway I realize I must have missed my exit. Upon this realization, I know I need to turnaround and call Mike so he can tell me which exit. The problem is, the next exit is another 20 miles. I had officially gone 40 miles out of the way, in an attempt to get home faster. Awesome. I am beyond annoyed with myself at this point. Granted, the road I needed is named something different going east then it is going West (the way I had directions for) and hence my getting lost was quite legit. I finally get off at the correct exit after practically being in Timbuktu, and make it in my door just past midnight.
Amazing weekend followed by a series of unfortunate events.
What makes everything better: boyfriend is flying me out to NC over President’s Day so I can meet his Dad (who has been in Afghanistan) and all his friends from NC. Definitely can’t wait until that.