My last day in Australia dawned bright and disgustingly early, as I needed to be at the airport while the birds were still trying to figure out what the fuck was up with that big shiny "sun" thing. Jeanne and Mal drove me to the airport, where they dumped* me summarily on the curb and sped off into the sunrise. Jerks.

In I went, to check into my flight. I had made a point of arriving hours and hours early, since I needed an aisle seat. Bad back + seventeen hour flight + middle seat = removed from the plan by the EMTs, because I would no longer have been capable of moving my legs. As it was, by requesting an aisle seat at the absolute rear of the plane, I was able to get what I needed, and nobody had to get hurt. On I went, to security!

Security lines are so much faster, nicer, and less like being trapped in a really fucked-up post-cyberpunk horror movie when they're not controlled by Homeland Security. I'm just saying.

I wandered around the airport for a little while, buying breakfast, soda, and cheesy souvenirs for the people who would mug me at home if I didn't bring them anything, and managed to use up the last of my Australian currency. Then apologetic airport employees chased us all away from our gate, as Homeland Security requirements forced them to comply to American security standards...which, apparently, meant "make everybody mill and get frightened because you won't tell them what's going on." Yay! But eventually, there was a plane.

The actual plane ride was fine. I slept, I read the new Terry Pratchett (I Shall Wear Midnight), I watched a lot of movies, I finished the September Sparrow Hill Road story, I drank more Diet Coke than was strictly good for me. Because this flight was heading for America, land of the free, we were not allowed to congregate near the restrooms or be out of our seat for any "unnecessary" reasons. Like, you know, not becoming one gigantic muscle cramp due to sitting down for seventeen hours. I'm in favor of safety, America, but did it ever occur to you that crippling tourists hurts the economy? I'm just saying.

The plane landed. Ker-thump. And the fun part began.

See, in order to get to my flight from LA to SF, I needed to clear Customs. In order to clear Customs, I needed to clear Immigration. I was on a very tight transfer, so I was very grateful for the existence of citizen and non-citizen lines...until I got there and no one was respecting the damn signs, making all the lines a mixture of people returning, and people coming in. Why was this a problem? This was a problem because all visiting aliens must be photographed and fingerprinted and grilled at length, and this makes processing glacial.

I fidgeted. I squirmed. I tried not to panic. I passed through Immigration, trusting that someone on the other side would know what was going on, since I was exhausted, jet-lagged, and barely staying on my feet. I picked up my suitcases, asked several people where to go, and was pretty much shoved out of the terminal to sink or swim on my own, as was everybody else. A sign outside said to go right; I went right, because I obey signs when exhausted.

Sadly, the sign led to a large and very confusing airport terminal, with lots of lines and contradictory signs and people. I asked a pilot how to get to Gate 31. He pointed. I went. I went, and...there was no Gate 31. So I, exhausted and jet-lagged and not sure where my feet were anymore, started crying.

To the airport security employee whose name I didn't get, who helped a crying blonde girl with pink camo luggage by getting her to the correct security line, to the front of the line, and to her gate five minutes before her plane was supposed to take off: thank you so so very much. I hope you get many good things in this world, because you are all that stopped me from having a massive panic attack in the middle of LAX.

And after all that, of course, my plane was delayed. I sat down at the gate, plugged things in, and called people to let them know I was home, with periodic calls to Mom to update my projected arrival time in San Francisco. Eventually, they let us board.

I do not remember the flight from LA to SF. I passed out as soon as I sat down.

Mom met me at Baggage Claim in San Francisco, and answered the question of whether she'd heard about the Campbell by bringing me balloons and crying all over me. I gave away most of the balloons to small children at the carousel, with Mom's blessing, and then we finally, finally went home.

With a stop at the comic book store on the way. A girl's gotta have her priorities, after all. And that, oh best beloveds, was Australia.

I can't wait to go back.

(*By "dumped" I mean "respectfully off-loaded, and hugged me a great deal, before tearfully leaving." Isn't precise vocabulary fun?)

Back in mid-September, Borderlands Books in San Francisco played host to the third Traveling Circus and Snake-Handling Show, assembled to celebrate the release of the third (yes, already) October Daye book, An Artificial Night. Yay! I love Borderlands, I love the Circus, and I love book release parties, so this was like a whole casserole baked entirely out of pixie dust and joy. PIXIE DUST AND JOY.

We began with me, Amy, Brooke, Ryan, and Mia at my house, getting ready for the day ahead of us. This largely consisted of "putting on clothes" and "packing the event kit," a large orange plastic box that carries all the non-perishables needed for a big book party (raffle tickets, raffle prizes, bookmarks, paper plates, pens for signing stuff, occasionally one or more of the cats if we don't seal it fast enough). Ryan and Mia drove off with Amy. Mom picked the rest of us up, along with my youngest sister* and her girlfriend, and we drove to San Francisco, only stopping off to buy classy, classy cake from the warehouse store.

We got to the bookstore hours early, and stowed our stuff in the bookstore before scattering to find food. Amy, Brooke, and I would up going to a tacqueria down the street, which fed us delicious Mexican food, and kept Brooke from killing and eating us all. I ate a chicken burrito, nom, and we walked back to the bookstore to find a Kate sitting outside, reading a book, and the rest of the descending Circus waiting inside. Hooray! CIRCUS TIME! The entire Circus was wearing orange and black and green. ORANGE GIRLS OF THE WORLD, UNITE. Seriously, it was MAD AWESOME.

The night was divided into five distinct activities: music; raffle drawings; cake; reading; Q&A. We had breaks between activities, so people could mill, visit, use the bathroom, and shop (being as we were in a very large, enticing bookstore and all).

MUSIC: Musicians from everywhere! Alphabetically by instrument, we had Brooke Lunderville on banjo, Betsy Tinney on cello, Amy McNally on fiddle, SJ Tucker on guitar and vocals, Michelle "Vixy" Dockrey on vocals, and me on occasional "flustered author is flustered" vocals. (We did close with "Wicked Girls," so that's all right.)

RAFFLE: You got one ticket for showing up, one ticket for a purchase from the cafe, and one ticket for a purchase at the bookstore, for a maximum of three tickets per person. The drawing included everything from books to pendants to toys, and was fun, as always, with the usual amount of fuss and cheering for the winners. Buckets of fun.

CAKE: We had two cakes, and no cake cutting device. So Alan, glorious Alan, cut the cake with a gladius. I love having events at Borderlands. I love it SO DAMN HARD.

READING: Because I didn't want to read from the third Toby book, I read "Lost" from Ravens in the Library. When I started the story, the store had three copies left in stock. When I finished it, they had...zero. Literally, I started to say "I think this may be the last one," and Jude signaled that no, it had been sold while I was reading. Super-fun! Also, I made Vixy cry. Flawless victory.

Q&A: The Q&A was, as always, insane. You should come to one sometime.

During the milling sections, people talked, bought books, bought pendants, and bought copies of Sooj's new album, Mischief. (We wound up selling out of that, too.) Many books were sold, many hugs were given, and at the end of the night, we bid the bookstore a fond farewell and went down the street to Fritz, where we ate fries and mussels and crepes, and were joyful.

Everybody loves a night at the circus. Don't you?

(*The one who looks like a zaftig gothic Betty Page.)c