I am repatriated.
My next entry, maybe I'll even do it today, will include lots of stuff about the arduous nature of my trip home. For now, though, suffice to say that I am doing exactly as I've been instructed.
I stepped off the final plane of the trip last night around 11:15pm, and luckily one of my best and oldest friends in the world, Dusty, waited for me at the airport when my flight (like most during my 20 hour journey) was an hour late. Who'm I kidding, he's more brother than friend - we've been best friends since we met at the pre-kindergarten "round-up" at age 4. Anyway, he helped me with my luggage and he's graciously allowing me to crash at his funky bachelor pad. Of course, I will reciprocate with copious amounts of delivery pizza and... well, they don't deliver beer, but we can find that. I'm very excited about my first delivery pizza since May. That's later tonight.
There are a myriad of reasons why I'm resting here rather than at the farm, and none of them are familial estrangement. It's just easier in many ways and I think I'll recoup quicker. The trip was a big strain on the whole injury, which had fairly well settled into a pattern of waking me up at night, saying hello, subsiding, hen being mostly fine aside from the numbness until the late evening when my arm would get sore. Yesterday I stayed dosed up with ibuprofen and was okay, considering all I was having to do, except for once on the initial trans-atlantic flight and then on the drive from the airport to here.
By all accounts, doctors and my own online research, all signs point to it healing up on schedule and my being ready to work again by Thanksgiving. That's my goal.
For now, I take it easy. More on the trip, with photography to prove I DID wear Sup's silly hat on the journey, in my next entry. . . at which point I'll probably truncate this one severely.
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