Not Seattle

The following was written last night around 8pm...

I fucking hate Seattle.

No, I really do. I only live there because I'm lazy. It takes very little effort to carry on living my life there, while it requires a great deal of effort to get a new job and move far away, particularly when I have cats to bring along. So I continue on in the city I can't stand, take as many trips away as possible, and complain a lot. It comes naturally to me, having grown up with a Catholic martyr of a mother who constantly demonstrated the technique.

Right now, I'm in Puerto Vallarta, but Seattle's horribleness is still conspiring to ruin my night. If this hotel didn't have wi-fi in the lobby, I could've remained blissfully unaware of the snowpocalypse back home, but alas, I'm addicted to the innernettes and read all about the winter wonderland awaiting me on my return.

Don't get me wrong, I like snow. I actually love winter. I think it's totally natural to escape to a sunny Mexican resort in January and come home to a few inches of snow on the ground.

However, despite having at least one major snow event per year, Seattle has no idea how to deal with the situation. Which is why I'm already annoyed thinking of the major hassle I'll be walking into when I leave here tomorrow.

There's a good chance that my plane will be greatly delayed while Seatac airport scrambles to keep the runways clear. Once my flight lands, it's possible that I won't be able to get my car out of airport parking, or very far on the roads back to the city. Even if I-5 is clear, it's unlikely that my little Saturn will be able to navigate up Capitol Hill to get home, given that the streets will probably be covered in a treacherous layer of ice and compacted snow, from the poor plowing technique the city has become known for. Then if I make it through all of that, I have to find a parking space on sloped side streets that have never seen a plow or grain of de-icer.

If it's as bad as the web makes it look, I could even be stuck paying last-minute rates for a hotel by the airport, or -- worst case scenario -- stuck in SeaTac with nowhere to sleep at all. And there's not a damn thing I can do to make the situation better. I'm just flying straight into Hell, with no other options.

Since there's nothing I can do about it, I'm trying to deal with the annoyance, and not waste my last night here in Heaven. How? I'm drinking. And listening to the ocean. And searching for my inner optimist, desperately trying find it in me to hope for the best.

It had better work. I really, really need it to work.



Today's update...

For the most part, I managed to forget about the situation and have a relatively mundane evening. Then I woke up around 4am and spent an hour or so stressing about the situation. I've read that studies show optimists are comforted by telling themselves that everything will turn out fine. Pessimists feel better after they've come up with every possible negative outcome and make a plan to deal with each. Pessimists make good project managers. You can guess which one I am based on the above.

I finally told myself that imagining all the hassles wasn't going to change the weather, but it would ensure that I end up trying to drive in snow while very sleep deprived. So I went back to sleep.

This morning has gone by way too fast, and my flight doesn't leave for another 4 hours... which means that if I'm on time I'll be arriving in the dark and cold of the evening. And I just want to get home. The thought of how difficult that will be makes me nauseated. But I don't think I have any other choice.

Ugh. See you all in Seattle... if I ever get there.