After I somehow eventually manage to get back to Atlanta, I don’t want to set foot on an airplane for the rest of the summer. This means I will miss out on my dad’s birthday, and a family beach trip, but at this point, I really don’t give a shit. Flying hasn’t just lost its luster, it’s become the mother of all inconvenient chores that does nothing but infuriate me now.
Now if you’ll excuse me, if I’m a betting man, I think I should start looking for cheap lodging for tonight, in Fort Fucking Lauderdale, and prepare to go to bed early as fuck so I can be up at early as fuck, and get back to this fucking airport that I’ll probably get bumped twice before managing to make it back to fucking Atlanta on a fucking Tuesday afternoon, taking more fucking money out of my fucking wallet.
P.S. Miami fucking sucks, but I’ll get much more into that when I’m not fucking mad as hell.
