Wednesday, my alarm went off at 4:00 am. I was awake and showered before my newspaper was even delivered. I made it to the mythical Terminal A of National Airport, got patted down by the TSA (and, uh, kind of enjoyed it), and wound my way to San Francisco.
Wheels down in San Francisco 11:30ish their time, hit the hotel at 12:30, check into my complimentary suite (free suite, bitches!), frantic changing of clothes/ironing a blouse while I was wearing it/patting down my hair with body lotion, lunch meeting at 1:00, site visit until 5:15, dinner reservations 5:45 (Slanted Door! Yum! Until I fell asleep face first into my glass noodles).
I realized I was too tired to party like a rock star in my rock star suite, so I settled for catching up on some work and doing a lap of my parlor, singing We Are the Champions. (Incidentally, that's how I react to all the good things in life.)
Thursday, up, showered, 8:30 flight, back in DC 7:00, home by 7:30, completely conked out by 9:30.
My circadian rhythms have a techno beat, I've spent the last few days in airports among people wearing surgical masks, I've sent nearly a dozen bizarre text message distress signals, and, moreover...the next jackass who reclines his seat until his head is in my lap is at least going to have to buy me dinner first.
My brain is fried. More next week.