Happiness is a Warm Suitcase

I was sitting and getting ready to drink a cup of coffee this afternoon when the phone on my desk rang, which is especially weird because it's my British Telecom phone and it never, ever rings. Usually, I keep it under my bed, but my scout apparently put it on my desk while I was gone. I stared at it for a minute and almost didn't answer it, possibly because I was surprised to discover that it's an actual, functioning phone. (I think of it like the red phone on the president's desk, which you don't actually use unless it's a crazy extreme emergency. Mine is curvy and the color of a banana and not quite as imposing, but you get the idea.) But I did, and the guy on the other end just said, "...Ryan?"

And I was like, "...um, Vladamir Putin?"

And he was like, "a truck dropped off your case this morning, and we've got it in the Lodge."

I almost bellowed "I LOVE YOU" but thought better of it.

So instead of actually drinking my coffee, I put on my coat and made a beeline for the Lodge, because I would not have been at all surprised if it was the wrong suitcase, or it was empty, or it was stolen by the time I got there (or, for that matter, if I broke both of my legs, or if the Lodge was hit by a meteor, or if my suitcase crawled out of the Lodge on its own accord and sprouted wings and flew back to Chicago just to be difficult). But it was there! And we went to Starbucks, and I got coffee, and now I'm in the computer lab, just chillin' with my suitcase. I haven't taken it back to my room to unpack, but it's kind of comforting knowing that I can reach over and touch it.