Well, I made it.

Every self-shanghai-ing fiber in my body to the contrary. Mis-remembered my flight as being two hours later than it was, but did in fact check. At 6:23 pm. 8pm flight. Inhaled chicken pad kee mao on the way through horrid traffic to the airport. But I made it. In part because the flight was delayed for an hour. Which made me very nearly miss my transfer in Santiago. But all is well. I'm installed in my apartment, which is lovely, listening to tango on the radio, and steeling myself to go out into a (very loud) Buenos Aires in search of an adaptor for my laptop, since neither of the ones I brought work.

I'm feeling a little lost here. I guess I'm not used to being alone. Especially without booze which I'm determined to (mostly) do without while I'm down here.

I might even scout out a running route for myself.

What is wrong with me?