Damn that stupid coffee. Not only did I stay up until two a.m., I slept through breakfast. I am really starting to lose my temper here, and being hungry doesn't help. But I did have fun watching contestants get manipulated on The Price Is Right. Great. So I wandered downstairs and raided the vending machine—again. They're out of Pop-Tarts and all of the good chips. It's me and Mr. Goodbar dining together again. When I get out of this sterile carcass of a hotel room I'm going to have a real honest-to-God meal with minimally-processed food. I'm craving vegetables. Something healthy. I guess a diet of Pop-Tarts and chips and water will do that to you.

I'm trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to stand another day of this. I can't figure out what is more maddening—watching traffic move around the airport, knowing there's no flight for me to take to get out of here, or watching traffic move along I-440. Just because the roads are improving here doesn't mean that the roads are improving way back out in the backwoods, where Jeff and the rest of my family are.

My consolation is that yes, while I'm going stark raving mad here, I would be absolutely losing my mind at my parents' house. Jeff says they don't have power. They're running off of the generator, and my sister and nephew are there. I guess a quiet, sterile hotel room with crappy food is better than a smoky house with a screaming four-year-old.

Neither option is pleasing. I want to go home. Kat says the kitties miss us terribly. I think it's mutual.