My bags are packed, my groceries are purchased, and I've had my last steak for eight months. Yes, the time has come - 7:30 AM, to be precise - for me to leave home once again and take the three-hour drive to Atlanta to catch my flight out.
The unfortunate bit about this trip is that the flight isn't direct; I have to hang out in Newark, home of the $7 sandwich, for two hours. Whichever idiot dubbed New Jersey the "Garden State" never spent time in the airport. Reinforcing the difference between North and South, Newark also lacks something Atlanta gave me last September: free Wi-Fi in the international terminal. No, Newark wants me to pay to get online after I purchase some overpriced cold cuts. Well, screw you, Jersey. No one likes you, anyway.
If all goes according to plan, my box of gumbo mix and I should arrive in Edinburgh around 7:30 AM Sunday, theoretically in time for church. I'll consider it, but I'm willing to bet God would give me a pass if I skipped this once...
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