I must apologize again. The past month has been another doozie. I've been flying around more than I've been home. It sounds fun, but there really is nothing like home.
I wait for the moment that I walk in the front door and drop everything. Whether it's a two day trip or a two week trip, the feeling of getting home is the same; extreme relaxation and elation.
I don't get worked up about much. I believe that I'm a fairly easy and flexible person, but put me in an airport and I'm teetering on losing my mind. When there's a crowd of people moving towards the same thing, I get serious anxiety.