Slouching toward adulthood, one visa at a time

This is what I've been up to the last week:

Friday: Stumble into Kingsford-Smith Airport in Sydney, hung over and full of last good breakfast I will eat until next Christmas. Fly 10 hours to Hong Kong next to a woman whose body is 97 percent torso. Take two Ambien to numb left side of body.

Saturday: Land in Hong Kong. Marvel at insta-uselessness of duty free shops worldwide. Re-board plane, this time next to man with shoulders like a novelty umbrella. Watch, captivated, for the two hours it takes him to figure out entertainment console remote control. Take two Ambien to numb right side of body.

Sunday: Land in London. Wait an hour at Heathrow for bus to Stansted. Begin one-coffee-per-hour IV drip to achieve semblance of wakefulness. Arrive at Stansted, wait 6 hours for flight. Realize that there is nothing to do in airports other than read and caffeinate. Board plane 300 pages bookier and 12 shots coffeer. Sit behind Miracle Baby, capable of screaming without inhaling for 90 staccatto minutes. Land in Copenhagen. Is it still Sunday? Sleep at 8 pm.

Monday: Wake at 5 am. Achieve level of idleness from which light cannot escape.

Tuesday: Return to work, at least in body. Meet with boss. Find out that new job starts Feb. 1. Good salary, tons of holiday time, interesting duties. Jetlaggy mind not capable of processing information, so make vowel sound and blink rapidly.

Wednesday: Work visa approved for for three Denmarky years.

Thursday: Finish dissertation, send to university without complications. 

Friday [projected]: Misplace keys, run over puppy on way to work, receive cancer diagnosis, lose parents in fiery sheep accident, become legally adopted by Mike Huckabee.