 |
|
December
14, 2005. The first day in Sarasota, Florida, was a bit deathly. For all the beautiful, temperate weather, I was a sniffling, muzzy-headed mess. The Tuesday evening before Wednesday's flight out right before Thanksgiving I came down with a terrible case of the sneezes. It was pretty awful. The very end of my flight saw me practically cracking my jaw in half with yawns in an attempt to pop my ears. Nearly deaf and dizzy, I walked off the plane with my Mom and had to lean with my forehead against the cool metal of a payphone at the gate, as I nearly passed out from exhaustion and head cold. A friend cackled when I had told her of my woes earlier at work that day: "You are SO Patient Zero!" Sigh. The drive from the airport to Sarasota was just over an hour, and surreal, with large expanses of darkness all around us - causeways stretching out, spanning water and land, lights few and far between. My brother and his wife came to get us, and we tiredly made our way to the condo village. Even though I was so ill, I felt a sense of peace I hadn't had for some time - I was with most of my immediate family, right there in that car. My mom and my brother are the two people in the world who know me the most, and have known me the longest, as much as they may misunderstand me, or have trouble relating. At that moment, it felt like it counted for something. go
back to the index |