Heading to St. Paul

The sun rose this morning on the island, revealing a perfect late summer day. Waking up at around 7, we walked to the barn, and rode bikes to breakfast. But by 9:30, we still didn't have a table. It was early, sure. But I had to get to St. Paul. We scrapped the sit-down, and grabbed egg sandwiches for the drive to the boat.

Saying my goodbyes to family and friends, I boarded the 10:45 out of O.B., and headed towards the mainland. When shortly after departure, the pain settled in. Oh yeah, that's right. There had been a party the night before. The rains held off, and that funny band showed up. There were many drinks, and not nearly enough dinner. Oh yeah, that's right. That would explain why my insides felt like a Tom Waits song.

On the other side, I boarded a bus bound for Logan Airport. And from Logan to O'Hare. And from O'Hare to Minnesota. And getting off the plane, my bladder was full. I made my way to the men's room and caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked like a criminal, an agitator. I needed a shower and a change of clothes. I needed a cheeseburger and a flag pin for my lapel.

First, I still needed to piss. The urinals were all filled up, so I'd have to use a stall. But this was Larry Craig's bathroom, so I'd have to watch my footing. And this is St. Paul on the week of the convention, so I'll have to watch my step.