Between dim sum tomorrow afternoon and my flight home on Thursday, I have no plans. No real plans, anyway, the kind with dates and times and directions. I have a list - a list of places I think I might enjoy seeing, and a guidebook that seems to have solid recommendations so far.

I know I'd like to have a drink with Matthew's brother Daniel, since we haven't seen each other since we were teenagers, and I'm curious to see how much we think we've changed.

I know that I'd like to see Crutcher and Theresa, but I don't know if our schedules will coincide.

It was supposed to be a quick, easy trip last week. Out on Sunday, back on Wednesday. I took Jeff to the airport as part of a small gaggle of guys who needed to get back to the airport (which, I might add, is a story in its own right). Back on Wednesday, we figured.Except that, as business trips are wont to do, things changed. Wednesday became Thursday, which became a cross-country flight home on Friday so that he could put his affairs in order to pick up a flight back on Monday, with the understanding that this trip might be as long as 14 days.

It is Wednesday evening. He is still there. As of today we now know that Jeff will need to stay for a third week.

Me: coding fast, hard, and heavy for techops & security. Realizing that I now de facto answer to three dragon*con directors. Amused I got myself into this mess.Jeff: still in San Francisco. What was supposed to be a three-day trip morphed to a Sunday-Friday trip, culminating in today's flight home … and today's phone call telling me he must be back out there on Monday for next week, with about a 50-50 shot of having to be out there for a third week.

This way is as appropriate as any to make the introduction:

"You have to eat, kitty."

I've heard that admonition in many different voices. On this night it was the combined voice of Brian-and-Suzan, who were playing the Unified Marital Voice Of Reason.

I don't eat well before I fly. All the aerodynamics lessons in the world aren't likely to change that; my discomfort with flying has nothing to do with the concept of flying and everything to do with the issue of turning over control of my life over to a pilot whose name I don't even know.

Play me a groove
one for my radio
one for my love that came and went
So many stories -
hey man i'm sorry, Joe -
this is just a song to pay the rent
- Angie Aparo, "Spaceship"

Three weeks away made my home a stranger to myself. I walked back in and there was everything, exactly where I left it, my life exactly where I left it, and it took me a day or so to realize that I was what had changed. I was the unfitting piece in the mostly-complete puzzle.