I hate traveling. I think it is dangerous, it is dull and has nothing to do with what I call ‘having a vacation’. Traveling is for those who feel uncomfortable in the place of permanent existence. I can’t say I feel the same. Below are a few reasons which I hate traveling for:

1. I’m always convinced that my plane is the one that will make the evening news: the tragic, fiery crash with no survivors.

2. All of the socks I packed have holes in the heels. All of them. At least I don’t have to bring them home with me.

3. I miss my family. My baby cries when I talk to her on the phone.

4. I have insomnia because there is a TV in my hotel room and I don’t have the self-discipline to turn it off when it’s time to sleep.

5. The food is strange and greasy. Where are the lentils?

6. The bed is a horrible, bouncy contraption with box springs and the sheets are too tight no matter how much I tear it up.

7. I worry about the Angry Baker and how he’s doing and if he’s too stressed out trying to do it all himself.

8. The work I’m doing for [Federal Funding Agency] is interesting but we’re isolated in tiny little groups and I feel like I’m being punished for something.

9. The weather here is even worse than in Square State. How can this be? Square State is mostly hardiness zone 5, and [Federal Funding Agency] is in hardiness zone 7.

10. I keep getting bad news via email. Our job search this year has turned into a complete clusterfuck. We may be searching again next year, even though we had six (6!) really fantastic candidates. I can’t keep from thinking it’s my fault, being on the search committee and all.

11. It took me an hour and a half and probably 10-15 duplicated charges to get wireless access in my room.

12. I hate sleeping alone.

13. I miss the Angry Little Dog and the Angry Crazy Cat.

14. I want to go home.

15. I’m obsessed with the possibility of taking bedbugs home with me.