Traveling is Stressful.

Crap! I overslept. Again. My contact lenses are plastered to my eyes, there appears to be some sort of small, woodland animal nesting in my hair and I'm pretty sure I ate a full plate of cotton balls before lapsing into a coma last night. Business as usual.

My bus to Albany is departing from South Station in 40 minutes and I really need to be on it. Problem is, the watch my parents gave me in lieu of an entire sweet 16 birthday party has gone missing. Now is NOT the time for a friendly game of hide and seek with my luxury timepiece.

What the hell. Not in the kitchen, the bedroom, the living room. Not under the couch. Not even in the litter box. I now have exactly 22 minutes to throw on clothes, pack a bag and somehow teleport myself to south station. No biggie. Except the thought of some Boston cabbie, bartender, or random homeless person sporting my watch at this very moment is sort of throwing a wrench in my best laid plans.

Am now in Full On Panic Mode. Commence the screaming, crying, flinging of household objects and general psychological breakdown that accompanies episodes of extreme stress in my life. I collapse on my bedroom floor in a pool of watch-less misery. Am now at eye-level with the half-eaten bag of Cheezits next to my bed.

Ohhh. Of course. How could i have forgotten. I always put my jewlery in bags of cheezy baked-not-fried snack products for safe-keeping after a long night of drinking. How silly of me to forget. Am relieved to find my watch intact, albiet coated with delicious real-cheddar flavor. However, I now have 17 minutes to make aforementioned bus.

No worries, with my watch safely strapped to my wrist I can do anything. And what I need to do is arrive in Albany in time for my best friend's 25th birthday. She's made it clear that there might be some unpleasant repercussions if I fail to do so.

Make it to the station with 3 minutes to spare, purchase my ticket and collapse in my seat, wheezing and sweaty, as the driver turns on the engine. Victory.

I immediately fall into the stress and alcohol-induced sleep of the dead. When I awake, 2 hours later, we are at a rest stop. In Connecticut.

I am on a bus to Manhattan. Which, if my limited grasp of geography serves me correctly, is nowhere near Albany, NY. Some quick calculations confirm that not only will I not make it in time for the party but, all told, the customarily 3.5 hour long trip to Albany will take me over 9 hours to complete.