xii.

here i am, here i sit. leaving chicago this morning i was skeptical about making my flight. it had to do with a mix of eagerness and nervousness--i'm not exactly sure about the source of this. the digression began around irving park and ashland. eleanor was talking when the negative thoughts inhibited me. i, albert, noticed the clock. then i began to brood as i usually will, fearing a missed flight. my last experience has stayed with me, when the gate closed as eleanor and i ran to catch our myrtle beach flight.

the signs started with the sc plate smiling faces, beautiful places that i noticed on the way. then, after the deulsions set in, i dictated eleanor's driving, which ran us into more delays. i felt "it" jeering me, mocking me. each time we got into another lane to avoid congestion, the chosen lane would jam. traffic lights caused extreme anxiety for me. eleanor noticed this and did her best to soothe albert.

i had forgotten a few details about the trip planner while fighting my demons. details that could have illuminated reason. my illness overpowered my common sense.

i'm happy to be back on the deck of my sc home.

xi.

the bus rolled over the hills beyond the guatemalan border and left albert and eleanor in san ignacio, belize. they were out of money, so albert ventured off in search of an atm while eleannor stayed with the bags at the edge of town. when he returned, they were off in search of accommodations. before settling on the cottage, they had checked out a couple of lonely planet reccommendations that hapened to be either booked or unfairly described by the writers. the couple was relieved to put down their baggage, and no sooner did the bags hit the ground than they found themselves seated at the cafe, toasting their adventure with belikin beers.