Believe it or not, I did finally get home from the concert last night. I walked through my front door at 2:30 am, and even I thought that was too late to turn on the computer and start writing an entry. Even so, I didn't get to bed until almost four, and I paid the price all day today. It's a price that was well worth it, though.
The drive home was not without its own special magic. Contrary to the song, we found we didn't know the way out of San Jose. Somehow we found ourselves on the freeway headed south instead of north. It's a good thing the new cars have directional indicators, because it was dark and we might have gone all the way to Watsonville, thinking we were headed back up the Peninsula.
But I have to hand it to John. He got us going back in the right direction with fewer wrong turns than I make on a typical day driving around my own home town. The trip home was much quicker than the meandering marathon we took getting there. Maybe it's because there was less traffic at that time of night. Or maybe it was because we weren't following anyone.
Or maybe it seemed shorter because most of us were asleep, all flopped around and on top of each other in the back seat. Not me, of course. I might have nodded a few times, and I did rest my eyes a bit, but I didn't sleep. And neither did John, which is a good thing, because he was driving.