Because the weather over Chicago was so wretched, my plane flight got delayed two hours, so I missed my connection. When I got to Chicago, I was only able to book an alternate flight through Los Angeles. Luckily, I went to the check-in booth early to confirm the change and found new seats having popped up on a direct flight to San Francisco. Which was great.
In the meantime, however, I had to deal with that horrid little airport with the utilitarian yet confusing architecture and weather that would make British people groan. The sky was white and gross. The people were tired and angry. It was uncertain whether my luggage would end up in the same place as I would.
Angel gets sucked into O'Hare Airport.
I am currently in the hills above 'Frisco, so everything turned out all right. My apologies, but it appears that my cell phone does not work up here. I was expecting there to be much better reception, but it looks as though I will be incommunicado for the next few days. In the meantime, I will be working diligently to get drunk. More drunk, anyway.