I spent more than 20 hours yesterday travelling back to Phoenix from Singapore. Tragically my promised upgrade was unpromised when I got to HK and I had to sit scrunched and miserable in economy.

As always seems to be my fate when I fly economy on Cathay Pacific, there was the noisy Chinese family in the seats right behind me, the five-year-old Chinese boy (whose Ritalin presecription had obviously expired) kicking the back of my chair furiously, but only as I was about to fall asleep. When he wasn’t kicking he was flicking the overhead light on and off, maybe because he wanted me to feel that I was on the dance floor of Propaganda. He succeeded.

When I got to Phoenix, there were mobs of people like I have never seen. The lines to get through the x-ray machines must have been three-hours long, no exaggeration. It turns out bags full of box cutters had been placed in a Southwest Airlines jet and the transportation security guys, in their embarrassment, were ripping everyone’s luggage to pieces. It appears there is nothing they can do to make air travel safe.

It’s now the morning after and the jet lag has been vanquished and more than ever before I realize how much I miss my house and my loved ones and my two cats. I think it’s nearing the time for me to start seriously considering coming back home. (If my employer is reading this, don’t worry, I’ll give plenty of notice if I decide this is the route to go.) Yeah, Asia is loads of fun and I actually like my job, but I realize now just how much happier I am when I am with my friend of 15 years. Life really has little meaning when we’re apart.

I feel happier right now than I have in a year. It definitely tells me something.