Cinderella-like, the Hotel d'Isastre turned back into an ordinary (albeit somewhat bruised and beaten) Hilton, and everybody was gone, and I got awfully lonely - so I watched Fiddler on the Roof (on a channel with advertising, which meant ten minutes of movie followed by six minutes of ads which rather wrecks the experience...) and then got desperate enough for Desperate Housewives which were flolloping around on some channel, and then watched the weather channel for updates relevant to travel, and then crawled into bed and tried to snatch some sleep before I got up at my 5 o'clock wake-up call - and after THAT, it was cars, planes, and buses. From taxi on the Turnpike to plane at Newark to bus at Seatac to taxi which took me home from where the bus dumped me... and now I am tired of wheels and wings, or just plain *tired*. But I'm home, and I"ll sleep in my own bed tonight. Bliss.
The cats decided to be discreet abou their affection. They don't know whether to ignore me in revenge for my leaving them for five days or whether to come and rub themselves on my legs and purr loudly, and they've kind of been alternating between the two ever since I walked in the door - although Laptop does seem marginally more interested in my luggage ("This smells funny - where has she *been*?" than in me.
Tomorrow I will sleep for as long as I sleep, and then I'll race back into the next chapter.I need to put my skates on with this book now. The CHildrens Book Fair in BOlogna is imminent, and my agent will be there, and there will be discussions about the YA books. And they had better materialise...
I might write a few more words about Lunacon and individual panels, later, maybe tomorrow. Today, I am not even UNPACKING.
Well, in theory, I am blogging [grin] But this entry is just the equivalent of a sort of checking-in phone call saying, I'm home, I've arrived, thanks for the memories as always.