I'm Greek. We're dramatic. Get over it.

I'm in Chicago. Made good time, didn't fall asleep, managed not to hit anything, even remembered my toothbrush (although did forget my hairbrush).

But then this evening, guess what it does? It starts sleeting. Sleeting! It's 42 degrees out and there's tiny little bits of ice falling from the sky. I'd been back up north for less than five hours. I mean, really.

Nothing like coming home at the cusp of winter to make me want to run back to NC and hide under my blankets. People there think 50 is really cold.

But on the plus side, I did feel much better this morning when I got my bill at the Embassy Suites. Turns out the price they charged me for the room was roughly half the price listed on the door. Which is more the price range to which I remember the ES belonging. Whew! Why would they do that, jack the price up so much on the door thingie? Did they want me to almost collapse right there? Did they? I mean, if I keel over, I can't eat their crappy room service burgers (it was overcooked to my standards, and if you've ever eaten beef with me, you know how hard that is to accomplish. I said "well", not "charcoal briquette") or use their free-at-every-other-hotel-in-America-but-not-here wireless internet. If I'm passed out in a puddle at the doorway, they lose any hope of me drinking the FOUR AND A HALF DOLLARS A LITER "gee, aren't we nice to supply this right here in your room" bottled water, or of me ordering outdated movies on Pay Per View for the price of a month of Netflix (not that I did either of those, but, someone else might have).

Hmm. I had no idea I was still this bitter about the whole ordeal, now that I don't have to mortgage my house to pay for it...