I'm packing up my stuff for the return home from San Francisco. No one, and I mean no one, lays more waste to a hotel room for a more boring end than I do. You would think, perhaps, that The Who had stayed here or something. Instead, just me, hanging out between my ever-dutiful attendance* at various sessions of my discipline's professional meetings. Perhaps at some point I will learn that the best organization of one's belongings over a multi-day hotel room is not simply to throw each item to some new, as-yet-uncovered-by-something-else location.
Currently, I am trying to find the piece of paper that has time of my return flight. This seems important.
* If not obvious: a joke. I don't attend many sessions that I'm not directly involved in.