As of

Saturday, my Slice has been home from Japan for a whole YEAR.
Sometimes it seems like much longer than that.

For at least a week before Slice flew in, I wrestled over whether I should drive up to see him in Salt Lake or not. I didn't want to wait for his official report the next weekend, but I really didn't want to intrude on any Family Time either. I hadn't been expressly invited - and I know what it's like to have Family Time intruded upon. Oh, I know.

I consulted with friends, roommates, Matt, co-workers, total strangers.  Most of them told me to go; a few said it was too soon, even if it wasn't the airport.  On March 7th, a Friday morning, I went to class and then work, still undecided. Some high school friends had bailed on me. And I certainly wasn't going alone.

A little before noon I finally made my decision. I left work early (bless the boss!), called Geoff last-minute and picked him up on my way out of town. No one knew we were coming, least of all Slice.
I was pretty glad we went.