I feel like a 6-year old playing on daddy’s computer. I hate it when the only chair they give you in the hotel room was meant for someone at least a foot taller than me. Or maybe I’ve just got a really short torso. Hmm. No. It’s discrimination, I tell you. Hotel rooms were designed for tall business men, not short business women.

I flew to Seattle this evening, and then made the long trek through the darkness to somewhere north of there. I’m not exactly sure where I am because I got a bit lost trying to find the second hotel. See, because they did all the planning for these design sessions I’m here for so late last week, when they sent out the hotel confirmations this morning, at least half the names didn’t have a hotel attached. So we were told to go to one of them, and they’d tell us where to head next. Uh. Okay. I found the first one easily enough, and they were kind enough to supply me with a map, with the location of the hotel I was *supposed* to be at cleverly marked with an arrow.

Of course it would have helped if they’d marked the right *spot*. Sigh. I spend a good ten minutes going in big circles trying to find a non-existent street. Finally I broke down, dragged out the cell phone (and thank goodness I thought to recharge it this afternoon) and called them to beg for directions. The impression I got was that this was not the first such call the desk guy had received that evening. At least I know it’s not because I’m clueless (okay, so maybe I am, but getting lost going to the hotel wasn’t related to that.)

I’m driving a Big Car this week (yes, even bigger than mine). I made reservations for a compact like I usually do, figuring that since the only driving I’ll be doing is on the freeway between hotel and project site, and I’ll be the only passenger, I don’t need anything large and hulking. I’m not sure exactly why the guy behind the counter at the airport did this, but apparently he had a whim to upgrade me for free. When I showed up to pick up my car, there was a Subaru Outback sitting in its space. I went back into the office and politely inquired as to the relative un-compactness of this particular vehicle. No such luck. I’m stuck with it. At least I’m only paying the compact price.

My older sister has one of these. She seems to love hers, and that’s cool if she does, but I much prefer my Maxima. Granted that Outback has a *nice* ride (and the unfortunate bonus of being so smooth that you don’t really notice you’re going 80 until you happen to glance at the odometer and yelp). And ooh, that trunk space is nice (once the very tired business traveler figured out how to *open* the trunk that is. Sigh). But I was kinda hoping to get the old standby rental car. I’d never buy a Chevy Cavilier, but they’re lovely rentals. Small, cheap, and familiar to anyone who’s done a lot of travel that required renting cars.

So here I am, back in Washington, and a lot sooner than I’d expected. I was sort of hoping that the only reason I’d come back to this state was to visit my little sister. Pleasure rather than work. Ah well. Such is not to be. I’m tired. Crossing fingers the week flies by without anyone killing anyone else (the very nature of what we’re about to undertake in these sessions is bound to get a whole lot of people rather upset).

Anyway, here I am. Tired. Really tired. But after the time I had getting to the hotel, I’m too wired to sleep. Yet. Now if I can just scrounge enough pillows to put on this darn desk chair so I’ll actually be tall enough to *type*……