Finally, it is the eve of my departure. I have been in Chicago since July 6th..non-stop, no breaks, no trips home. I am so tired of most of these people, save a select few. Imagine, you put 100 people in a hotel for three weeks...it turns into freakin Melrose Place. The gossip and rumors about who said what about who, who hooked up, who's husband just left them, who's in the closet, who's pregnant, who should leave their husband because he's abusive, how to parent children correctly, why people shouldn't consume more than two alcoholic beverages at one sitting in a work situation, blah blah blah.
We get to do it all again in October, although that will only be for a week, so hopefully everyone can hold their liquor and keep their pants on.
I am so ready to hop in my little car and head south to the sweet smell of fresh cut grass and a glass of wine on my deck. I want to get it on with my husband. I want to love on my dogs and prove to them that I do exist. And I want to spend a quiet morning at the barn with my horse.
Only one more morning of my hotel routine: wake up call at 6am, reminder wake up call at 6:15.
Hop in the shower. Hop out, pour a glass of juice. Stand wrapped in a towel while drying my hair and putting on my face, select an outfit that is cute but functional and able to deflect the Antarctic temps of the hotel meeting rooms. Down the elevator. Walk to the far end of the lobby where a breakfast buffet is set up for us each day. Decide if it will be oatmeal with brown sugar and raisins or bacon and eggs. Find a seat with the people I like. Start easing into the day with minor breakfast conversation. Betty or Lisa will swoop in as soon as I finish and take away my plate. I thank her and walk down the hall to class. This is exactly how it will go tomorrow morning. It will probably be the last day I have any structure to my morning until I return in October. I have found that I kind of like this structure and I may try to implement some of it at home. Who's going to give me a wake up call and whisk away my dirty dishes?