My head is numb. I'm chewing on cotton. This is not a hangover. I think it's called sleep deprivation. The Sheraton's computer called our room at 4:30AM this morning to let us know it was time to get up. Dirty computer. Early morning flights are about as fun as taste-testing Asprin pills.

My roommate, Andrew, and I are not on a vacation; for the next three days, traveling is our full-time occupation. We've both quit our jobs in the last week and now, with nothing between us and the world (besides a lack of income), we're ten minutes away from jumping on a flight to Chicago and from there, on to San Juan, Puerto Rico.

I'm proud to let you know that I've somehow managed to create an addict of Andrew. This weekend will put his mileage addiction to the test as we fly to SJU and back in three days, docking nearly 15,000 miles to our accounts. Truth be told, it's all in first class -- the best way of feeding an addiction to the sky.

Our early morning flight to Chicago is oversold by a couple seats and I negotiate with the gate agent to land us travel credits to take the 9AM on a 777. We're not losing out on this one. Business class on my favourite widebody and $200 each in exchange for sitting around in an airport for a couple hours? SOLD!

I love getting paid to travel. That's the only income I'll get this week.