I should be in spain

but instead im in a hotel in new jersey. i feel quite relaxed actually, after the adventures and nastiness of the day. i have a bottle of grape juice and a king size package of reeses buttercups, and this is my dinner since they stop room service at midnight. all i have is my carryon, no luggage, and I have a flight to Barcelona at seven tomorrow evening. I have been away from home for fifteen hours and counting.

The day started nicely enough, if vaguely tragic, hugging my little brother goodbye, going to my moms house, making scrambled eggs with Zach, tearful goodbye kisses, and a periodic shutdown of all negative emotion. I refuse to weep, I refuse to sob, succumbing to homesickness this early on will only lead to difficulties later. Then I was off.

Two hour drive to houston, singing Katy Perry's more risque songs at the top of my lungs, i think nothing. After my mother leaves me, I am completely alone, completely self-reliant, not for the first time, but in the most common and typical way. Navigating airports is challenging for most adults, I see a women arguing with a travel agent, frantically trying to get on a flight, reduced to tears because the women can do nothing. perhaps foreshadowing my own eventually helplessness in the face of these weatherworn beacons of knowledge.

In houston, my 1:10 flight to Newark has been delayed. Mechanical issues. My connection to Barcelona leaves at 7:10. No big deal. Again, the flight is delayed, I'm concerned about speaking to the travel agent about my connection, fearing dismissal. Overcoming my shyness, I inquire, receiving a snide response about how they can't hold the airplane for me (the subtext assuming I believe I am superior/presumptuous/spoiled little girl)

The flight leaves at 3, arriving at 6:50. We (myself and my fellow airplane travelers (and really it should be "we" because somehow it felt as if it was us against the conniving and evil airline, we cracked jokes, we helped each other out, one nice man helped me store my overhead carryon, another allowed me to board in front of him, etc)) sit and sit, the plane finally departs, scheduled time of arrival is 7:40.

I will miss my flight to Barcelona. Fear, the kind of awful crumbly and teary fear that dominates one's mind, pours over me. I attempt to relax, read, chat with my seatmate, longing to relax in this tight chair on this crowded steel bus hurtling through the air. We arrive in Newark. We taxi about for three hours. Now the horror of that statement may be lost on you, so i will attempt to elaborate. The air is dusty and hot, my clothes cling to me, my neck hurts, my body hurts, everyone is hissing with frustration and annoyance. Perhaps horror may be an exaggeration, and really, it is. A man has a heart attack during this period of time. An announcement interrupts my mental anguish, requesting that a doctor on board reveal himself. Death has a way of slamming perspective upon you. This is nothing, this is simply a blip in my journey. Relax, calm yourself, and distract yourself.

Attempts to somehow avoid booking a hotel and board a midnight flight to Madrid fail. I wait in line another hour, waiting consumes me. Patience isn't a quality that runs rampant in my blood. I tend to want to go, now. Wait wait wait and then, tedium, frustration, and a booking on the next flight to Barcelona.

I catch a taxi to my hotel, the aptly named The Renaissance, a far more difficult task than it might appear. Commanding women direct the flood of people seeking transportation, callously ignoring those who don't speak up. Without some shred of confidence, I never would have left the slushy park and loading zone of the Newark International Airport. After I attain a taxi, I realize my cash has been exchanged to euros. I have only 16 dollars for an 18 dollar fare. Cursing both my luck and that of the cabdriver, I sheepishly give him a 10 euro bill in addition to my crumpled cash. He drops me off in front of the hotel. Boarded for renovations, the handwritten sign taped to the glass door reads. I blink, considering the possibility that I am stranded in jersey, surrounded by waist high snowfalls, with no cash. I glance to my left, noticing a path of footprints. Stumbling I follow the path, snow reaching to my knees, plodding along in my already soaked boots, before reaching a service road. my hand is on my phone, ready to call my mom, i curse my packed pepper spray, hoping feverishly for no bad men to catch me. the hotel is open from the rear, and I numbly go through the motions of checking in, showering, and making phone calls before crashing blindly in bed.

Twas a hard day, and I will be one day late to the program.