Everything sucks

It's 4:40 a.m. here and I'm wide awake. Hooray, jet lag.

In about 2 1/2 hours I have to be at school for what will probably be an excruciating day of playing stupid togetherness games and singing happy-skippy songs about Jesus while we all clap along.

Someone kill me now.

The only reason I survived the flight home was thanks to everybody's favorite tranquilizer, Xanax. Basically me getting drugged into oblivion allowed Travis to lead me onto each plane like some placid mental patient. Otherwise there's no way I'd be here. I'd be back home where I belong.

All of my jewelry is gone, except my wedding rings. All of it. Cathay Pacific lost it.

Cathay Pacific was, until about 1 a.m. Pacific Time on Saturday, not the worst airline in the world.

Now they suck.

Some jerk singled us out at the DOOR OF THE PLANE in San Francisco and yelled at us because our rolling carry-on was "too big and heavy." It wasn't. Not only that, dozens of other people were walking by with bigger, probably heavier carry-ons. He kept picking it up and dropping it on the ground, anyway, as if to prove his point.

This wonderful individual screamed at us and, as we tried desperately to grab a few things we really needed out of it and stuff them into our computer bag, he threatened to throw us off the flight if we didn't hurry up. He informed us, as rudely as humanly possible, that our bag would show up in Jakarta.

It didn't.

If we see it again, ever, I'll be surprised. I'm not counting on it.

All of my jewelry. My necklace from Istanbul. My silver elephant bracelet and pendant from Thailand. Everything else.

At this point, I really don't care how many thousands of frequent flier miles (about 60K by now) we have with them. Unless they not only produce my bag but also one hell of a groveling apology, there is no way I'm flying Cathay Pacific ever again.

I'm giving them two days for my bag to show up, and then I'm writing the most scathing letter I can possibly manage-which will include the name of one Sundy Wong, Mr. "Scream at you and lose your luggage" himself.

This sucks. Why did I agree to a third year? I don't want to be here. I thought I'd be happy when we landed in Jakarta, but instead I just hated everything. I saw nothing of the country's beauty but only its filth and corruption. Standing in line waiting to go through customs for an HOUR nearly did me in. People tried to cut in line without making eye contact, like they always do here. It was hot and smelly. The customs agent hassled me, just because I'm a white girl so he can.

I can't wear half of the cute sleeveless shirts I bought at home because if I do wear them, I'll get stared at for being white girl. That'll probably happen, anyway. I am so sick of that. It's like these jerks assume that because we don't speak the same languauge I won't notice that I'm getting leered at.

I don't want to go back to school. I'm sick of the politics there, the incompetence in some of the departments, and I'm sick of the stupid little cliques that form among my coworkers. Why did I leave a solid group of friends to come back here where often I feel lonely and like I'm the odd one out? That was the stupidest thing I could've done.

I have people at home who actually love me and want to be around me. So I left them and came back here where I'll undoubtedly spend the next eleven months being lonely and left out. I'm a complete idiot. Good job, Erin.

I don't think I can handle eleven months of this. I just want to come home. I was certain I'd be fine once we landed, but I'm not. I'm even more miserable.

This sucks. I want to come home.

I can't do this.