I took several wrong turns and ended up pulling over on the side of the road to have a good cry about it. I had called the hotel to see if they could guide me in, and a good place to start was telling them where I was sitting at the moment having my little teary snit.
So I looked up and saw the street name and started bawling all over again.
I was sitting on Myrtis Street.
That name is significant, because Miss Myrtis is the Grande Dame of all things stitchy in these here parts, and she has been a beacon of love and encouragement for me ever since I met her in Guild. It was as though Miss Myrtis Her Very Self were sending me a little noodge to suck it up, dry my tears, and get on with it, so I did.
A few minutes later I pulled into the hotel parking lot and got checked in, and now I am patiently waiting for a little dinner to arrive before getting into my pajamas and stitchy bag.
Tomorrow will be a full day of appointments and classes and such, and then I'll drive the three hours home to Chez Spinster. I'm hoping that tomorrow will be a little less...fraught...than today has been. I really need to clam down and just take things one step at a time, or I'm never going to make it to that transplant!
I suppose that the overall moral to this story is that I am as hapless and hopeless in Indianapolis as I am in Mishawaka and that the next time I decide to do this I better have adult supervision
Either that, or it was a good exercise in regaining a little hutzpah and independence and I will learn how to be a semi-adult person in this big bad world and not get so bent out of shape by the unexpected detour evey now and then.