We throw parties, you throw knives. It's all the same if the fizzy drinks are nice.

I arrived home only moments ago. Incidentally, the flight back wasn't as interesting as the flight there. Maybe it was due to exhaustion. Maybe it was due to the incessant noise that comes out of some people's mouths. Maybe it was because I'm just annoyed/bitter/perturbed. Maybe I'm sick. I feel sick. Of course, that could all be due to the exhaustion. 

After the exiting the flight on Friday, I checked into my hotel room, piddled around until everybody else "situated," went to the university, chatted it up with a bunch of people that I've met before but couldn't exactly recall names and such. After meeting, greeting, rolling my eyes across the room too many times to count, Sally thought it best if we "wined and dined" as she called it. I had two glasses of wine. I thought it would be more respectable if at least one of us was sober when we returned to the hotel later in the evening. 

There's nothing like the smell of cheap bar to keep someone awake, so I showered and prepared to pop in some earplugs, a sleeping pill, and go to sleep. There's also nothing like being in a strange hotel room at midnight wondering whether you were really unprepared enough to forget to pack the travel bag including both your earplugs and sleeping pills (and incidentally, my toothbrush and paste, as well). I could have made it without the pills. The plugs, however, not a chance . . . especially since the people in the room above seemed to think the time of night incompletely irrelevant to their level of noise. I spent entire night with my eyes shut . . . trying to sleep . . . but awake the entire time. I didn't even have the chance to miss my alarm. 

The next day. Boring. Well, not really. But, I was tired and everything seemed to drag on for forever. That night . . . and the next night after . . . I kind of gave up on sobriety. I figured that the only way for me to pass out like a rock . . . was to consume enough alcohol to completely alter my sensory perception. In theory (more like, in my head) it was plausible . . . in reality I ended up equally exhausted as I would have been, but with the added bonus of a headache. 

This is why I am now laying on my bed, swallowing painkillers, listening to Broken Social Scene and trying to forget the weekend. The next time I travel, I'm going to think before I pack my luggage . . . and I'm going to avoid business trips with colleagues (other than Sally) that refuse to shut their mouths (namely one said person who thinks I don't dress "professional" enough). I suppose you could say I have conflict in the workplace . . . just a little bit though.