We're back in scenic Tucson after a lovely visit to New York. The wedding went off with a hitch (get it?), it only snowed one day at my parents' house, and we got to remember what it was like to wear winter coats. It was great seeing all the work friends, and I have to apologize to them for laughing so much. We were regaled with work stories, and nothing has changed. If anything, it's gotten worse. I may be a bastard for laughing, but I'm a bastard who is thinner and hasn't had a headache in months.
Since our flight left at 6 AM, that meant we had to leave my parents' house at 3:30 in order to get to the airport on time. In other words: we did not sleep. No point in it. Once we were on our first flight, though, we were both unconscious. Unfortunately, it was only for a few minutes at a time. For some reason we were seated in exit rows for three out of four legs of our entire trip. Most people would be happy with this, as they'd appreciate the extra leg room. My wife and I are Shetland people, though, so we have leg room in regular airplane seats. (We could probably fit in the overhead compartment, but haven't tried that yet.) So, we were stretched out, would doze off, wake up with mouth agape and horrified that we were snoring and/or drooling, eat some peanuts, and doze off again. We did that for both parts of our return trip, so the whole day is rather blurry and peanut-scented.
We pretty much passed out after we got back home. Not that we were devastated by the trip. Sleeping at the hotel was awful, but sleeping at my parents' house was great. Two insomniacs who need a TV on in order to sleep in a place where the only sound you can hear at night is your own breathing? On paper, that's a recipe for disaster. In reality, we slept like proverbial logs. (Stupid lazy logs.) My parents should rent out my old room to people with sleeping disorders. (Other than us, that is.)
So, 30 degrees warmer, here we are. Back in the mountainous desert. Or deserted mountains. Or something having to do with cacti and heat.