I'm coming home, I've done my time

Actually, I haven't. I gotta do at least three yards on the inside. Inside America, that is. Inside California. Inside San Jose, the armpit of the San Francisco Bay area.

I'm so sick of hearing that phrase, the bay area. See, the way they wield it here, the locals, I mean, is with the implication that it is the centre of the universe. They say "bay area" like everyone everywhere in the known world should know which bay they're referring to. Like there are no other bays.

Of course, this is the only one that matters to them, I get that. I get that nothing outside of a fifty mile radius matters to anyone here. I used to think Americans were provincial, woefully ignorant, and xenophobic. Now I'm sure of it.

I can't wait to go home. I booked my ticket this week, and decided to throw budget to the wind and take Pinky with me. That means no flexibility in booking, because I have to be on the United nonstop from San Francisco to Toronto, and there's only one a day. All in, including Pinky's fare, and travel to and from SFO, it'll be more than $1,000 which, nowadays, is about $1,500 Canadian. I never thought I'd see the day that that would happen. So much for, "At least you get paid in American money!"

Sixteen months down, twenty to go.

Yeah, I'm counting.