Caterwauling

In thinking (briefly) about travel plans, I realize I actually have to tell people I’m evaporating for a couple days.

The worst part is I have no problem with the reaction to what evil deeds I will likely be up to, but rather with the Hearing About It that I could catch Ebola or the enterovirus.

I grew up in an age where you’d rather hear you were knocked up than have an STD. These days it’s more preferable to hear you have an STD rather than killer explosive diarrhea.

Somebody get me a bedazzled surgical mask and allow me to go into denial for a little while …

All right, Meteor That is Always Zeroed in on my Forehead, waiting to map its coordinates and wipe out my existence.

I booked a flight.

And while I *could* do my usual morning project that day from the airport, I’m going to take a leap of faith that I can have coverage that day.

I’m going to do my usual and forget entirely that I have a trip booked. Until, like the day before when I’m working late and haven’t yet packed.

After all, we don’t want that meteor to know our whereabouts until the last possible moment so it cannot possibly have an opportunity to screw with us.

Dear Meteor,

Please don’t screw this up.

Love,
Goddess