Jet Lag (Sean)
Apr 30, 2012 17:07:53 GMT -5
Post by Erika Young on Apr 30, 2012 17:07:53 GMT -5
The following takes place on Wednesday April 25th
Erika stopped for a moment, pulling over to the side of the road to check the printed out directions again. Her rental car didn't have a GPS, not that she really wanted one, and she hadn't visited her father's hometown since she she was 10 and they came home for her Grandfather's 60th birthday. Not that she was going to the home that she had inherited just yet, she had another stop to make. An appointment with a psychiatrist that worked at a local school to get a referral for a local therapist. She'd gotten his name from doctor Campbell when she'd given her a call for any suggestions.
After finding the right directions, and popping a caffeine pill to keep herself awake for a bit longer. Her baby was being delivered the following day, and the rest of her stuff would get through once they cleared customs. Until her precious motorcycle arrived she would be stuck with the Rental, and supposedly they would send someone out to pick it up if she called them. Although it was all the way back at JFK that she'd gotten it from so she wondered what kind of charges applied with that. She sighed, mildly exhausted from her trip across the Atlantic. Yesterday she'd been in London.
She started driving again, pulling into a parking lot for the school about half an hour later. She checked a couple of times that she was allowed to park where she was, not particularly in the mood to deal with a ticket or something when she came back, before turning off the convertible and locking it. She climbed out of the car, wearing a black sleeveless tee and a pair of jeans with some sneakers. She wasn't one to dress up if the only occasion was being uncomfortable and having insomnia on a trans-Atlantic flight followed by a long drive to Vermont where she'd pulled over into a truck stop and slept in her car.
She stretched out as she walked up to the building, scanning the surrounding area out of habit. A few students hanging out inbetween classes, someone looking like they were in a rush to get somewhere off campus as they were sprinting in the direction she'd just come from. She rubbed the bridge of her nose for a moment, feeling somewhat stiff and in need of a good night's sleep. She blinked a couple of times, wiping the tiredness out of her eyes and steeling herself. She still looked a bit haggard, but she didn't look like she was that tired. She walked through the doors of the school, looking around for a moment as her mind twirled through all the different things she had to do.
Find a therapist. Find an architect/contractor. Get estimate to update house. Making sure that my gun permits made it to the police department. Check on the status of my things in customs. Make sure my baby's going to be delivered tomorrow, she thought, rattling off the things she planned on taking care of over the next couple of weeks. After this little meeting she was going to go to her new home, secure it, and get some sleep. Then she'd go about doing all that other stuff. She stopped at the front desk, crossing her arms as she waited for the person behind it to look up to her.
When they finally did, Erika cracked her arm before saying, "I've got an appointment with a Dr. Sean Neville. My name is Erika Young," she said. She was directed over to a chair, which she looked at for a moment before she opted to stand in front of it instead. She let out a yawn, covering it with her mouth as her eyes continued to scan around out of habit. Seven people had passed in front of the door in the time she had come in, six of them heading outside and one of them heading back in. Even if she didn't have any work to do, her mind didn't stop working. The back of her mind drifted back to her luggage. She'd had to get to the airport nice and early so that she could fill out the paperwork for her guns, which she didn't trust with customs like her antique weapons. Would've been nice if her old employers had given her a hand with transporting some of the stuff or something, but nope.
She took out her phone, glancing at it. It was now seven o'clock back in London, so she hadn't gotten more than a couple of hours worth of sleep in the last 48 hours. Not entirely unusual for her, and one of many reasons she was in therapy to begin with, but at least these days it was of her own doing, or as much as anything was her own doing.
Erika stopped for a moment, pulling over to the side of the road to check the printed out directions again. Her rental car didn't have a GPS, not that she really wanted one, and she hadn't visited her father's hometown since she she was 10 and they came home for her Grandfather's 60th birthday. Not that she was going to the home that she had inherited just yet, she had another stop to make. An appointment with a psychiatrist that worked at a local school to get a referral for a local therapist. She'd gotten his name from doctor Campbell when she'd given her a call for any suggestions.
After finding the right directions, and popping a caffeine pill to keep herself awake for a bit longer. Her baby was being delivered the following day, and the rest of her stuff would get through once they cleared customs. Until her precious motorcycle arrived she would be stuck with the Rental, and supposedly they would send someone out to pick it up if she called them. Although it was all the way back at JFK that she'd gotten it from so she wondered what kind of charges applied with that. She sighed, mildly exhausted from her trip across the Atlantic. Yesterday she'd been in London.
She started driving again, pulling into a parking lot for the school about half an hour later. She checked a couple of times that she was allowed to park where she was, not particularly in the mood to deal with a ticket or something when she came back, before turning off the convertible and locking it. She climbed out of the car, wearing a black sleeveless tee and a pair of jeans with some sneakers. She wasn't one to dress up if the only occasion was being uncomfortable and having insomnia on a trans-Atlantic flight followed by a long drive to Vermont where she'd pulled over into a truck stop and slept in her car.
She stretched out as she walked up to the building, scanning the surrounding area out of habit. A few students hanging out inbetween classes, someone looking like they were in a rush to get somewhere off campus as they were sprinting in the direction she'd just come from. She rubbed the bridge of her nose for a moment, feeling somewhat stiff and in need of a good night's sleep. She blinked a couple of times, wiping the tiredness out of her eyes and steeling herself. She still looked a bit haggard, but she didn't look like she was that tired. She walked through the doors of the school, looking around for a moment as her mind twirled through all the different things she had to do.
Find a therapist. Find an architect/contractor. Get estimate to update house. Making sure that my gun permits made it to the police department. Check on the status of my things in customs. Make sure my baby's going to be delivered tomorrow, she thought, rattling off the things she planned on taking care of over the next couple of weeks. After this little meeting she was going to go to her new home, secure it, and get some sleep. Then she'd go about doing all that other stuff. She stopped at the front desk, crossing her arms as she waited for the person behind it to look up to her.
When they finally did, Erika cracked her arm before saying, "I've got an appointment with a Dr. Sean Neville. My name is Erika Young," she said. She was directed over to a chair, which she looked at for a moment before she opted to stand in front of it instead. She let out a yawn, covering it with her mouth as her eyes continued to scan around out of habit. Seven people had passed in front of the door in the time she had come in, six of them heading outside and one of them heading back in. Even if she didn't have any work to do, her mind didn't stop working. The back of her mind drifted back to her luggage. She'd had to get to the airport nice and early so that she could fill out the paperwork for her guns, which she didn't trust with customs like her antique weapons. Would've been nice if her old employers had given her a hand with transporting some of the stuff or something, but nope.
She took out her phone, glancing at it. It was now seven o'clock back in London, so she hadn't gotten more than a couple of hours worth of sleep in the last 48 hours. Not entirely unusual for her, and one of many reasons she was in therapy to begin with, but at least these days it was of her own doing, or as much as anything was her own doing.
