Stan has been traveling for all or part of four out of the past four weeks, visiting grad programs in several states. The last two trips have been the most epic, both for the fact that the two programs are each incredible and that the two trips were squished up right next to one another with a mere twenty-four hours squished in between. Also, this very last trip- to Massachusetts- has been particularly intense, due to the distance traveled, the planned brevity of the visit (just one full day to visit campus and do all the necessary meets/greets, etc.), the tremendous anticipation leading up to it and the looming due date for major decisions to be made and replies submitted to all the programs (this Sunday- ack!). So of course the natural thing to happen would be for the airline (United and I are not speaking to one another at the moment) to fuck up Stan's flight arrangements, delay him for a full day- with nothing even approaching an apology and few expressions of optimism, much less promises, with regard to the prospect of getting him back home again- such that he spent no fewer than four hours at the airport yesterday and a full NINETEEN hours today in airports or on planes trying to get back home to get his shit together.
Needless to say, I am very happy to be heading out to the airport now to retrieve him. I've been tidying and laundering and such all evening in preparation for his arrival, pleasantly humming to myself as I putter; but not until an hour or more into it did I realize what tune it was:
"I'm working my way back to you babe..."