I’m here at Dulles airport, in DC (well, technically VA. I think. I’ll be honest I have no idea where I am.) I’ve already had quite the chain of travel snafus trying to get to Florida, starting with my cancelled flight out of NYC and followed by the world’s worst traveling cabaret ride.

Finally, things were starting to look up. My awesome parents picked me up from the bus yesterday, took me to a lovey dinner, gave me wine, and watched SNL40 with me. As always, I was the first one asleep.

Then this morning, Dad drove me to the airport. Flight is on time. Everything is coming up roses.

Then I decided to grab a quick coffee from the only coffee option here in Terminal Z (yes. Terminal Z. What the fuck else would you expect)– Dunkin Donuts. Coincidentally, I’m standing right behind the pilot of my fight. She’s about to get to the front when the cashier announces– “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sorry, but we are all out of regular coffee for the next 30 minutes. Only decaf.” My pilot takes one look at her copilot and says, with a grave, dire expression, “You don’t understand how much I need this coffee.”

So like– HOW MUCH are we talking? Like I can’t fly this plane at ALL without the coffee and we need to cancel? I might fall asleep mid flight and need the copilot to take over? I might get the caffeine-withdrawal shakes and accidentally clip a mountain top? I might be so out of it that I accidentally fly us somewhere even colder than this goddamn tundra? I’m just trying to figure out how many of these Xanax to take. On top of the three I immediately popped when I first got behind you, heard you say you were flying my plane, and then watched you yawn 5 times in a row.