I left Grand Forks yesterday around 12:30, against the travel advisory for the state due to blizzard conditions. (When you’ve got a flight to catch, you do what you’ve got to do.) Snow skated across the road like a fog and the sun threw two reflections of itself in reply to the cold. The drive took 2 hours longer than usual, and though a several cars and one semi didn’t quite make it, I did. (In spite of snapping pictures while driving.)
I met my lady friends at the Rusty Taco for a last supper. That’s right–the Rusty Taco. I highly recommend. Then I spent the night on my best friend’s couch, surrounded by mewling cats. I won’t complain about this; cats speak to my heart.
Now I’m t-minus 4.5 hours to departure, and the nerves are kicking in. (I’m the passenger with the white-knuckled death grip and lips silently praying to a God I don’t believe in during take off.) Ostensibly, I’m ready to go: Bags packed, devices charged, bowls evacuated. But my heart doesn’t really want to go. If you were leaving this face behind, would you?