The first travel day was madness. Pretty much stemming from right at midnight, me sitting down to watch the first Carnivale season finale (closing with that killer Brother Justin sermon, “The clock is ticking, brothers and sisters . . .”) but then guitar and piano were played and pedals were stowed and the apartment was cleaned and trash was taken out and a shower was had and my face was shaved and I just didn’t have time to squeeze in the last episode of Star Trek:TNG (I DVR’d it!) because it was already halfway between 2 and 3 and then Catherine woke up at 7 at Lake Travis from Emily’s bachelorette party and started driving in to town and called me at the last possible second for me to stumble up (not looking for sympathy, I had been advised to go to sleep early but have always found total comprehension of Zen easier than taking that particular flavor of advice) and we loaded up the car and drove up I-35 to Dallas so we could fly to Orlando but the plane was late and God I needed more water and then when we actually made it over Orlando we, honestly, took three laps of the city and kept hitting all kinds of turbulence and it was kind of awesome in an 815 sort of way but other than that, not (and I was the only person on the plane thinking that, I am just certain). It took an hour to get our bags and rent a rocking blue PT Cruiser, then we went and got settled in the room. Got groceries. Then the penultimate episode ever of THE SOPRANOS a la vino, lots of screaming Holy Shit at each other, then mercifully to bed.