I woke up this morning with a plan to drive to Binghamton to see my grandpa. “What’s the big deal”, I thought, “Just a five-hour ride. Then I’ll come back tomorrow for the PreCana.”

So I called my dad, to see which hospital he was in with the intent of googling and direction-getting. Dad, of course, couldn’t remember, so I drank a pot of coffee, wrote down directions to every hospital in the area, and played online scrabble with Tom. An hour and a half went by.

I may have asked aloud, “What is it with guys? Everything takes so long with them. I’ve racked up 85 points on the board, hung four pictures, gotten out the Christmas decorations and done all the dishes. And I’m still waiting to hear what hospital I’ll be driving to.” Calculating time in my head, I realized that even if I left RIGHT THAT SECOND I still wouldn’t get there until 5pm, which would kind of suck. I’d wanted to leave earlier.

I picked up the phone. Then I felt like an ass. Apparently, my grandfather passed away half an hour after my initial call, and my dad was holding off contacting me until he heard from Mom about the arrangements. Way to be impatient, erin. Good job!

On the bright side, I won’t have to spend ten out of the next 24 hours in my stinky, crushed-up Focus. On the down side, I’ll probably be headed out there this weekend in a car full of mourners. And my dad. Which means no cigarettes. booo.