Oh, I should give it another go and start flailing and rushing about and get everything together for tomorrow, but I’ve come to realize that I could actually come home from work and make sense of what I’m putting into my luggage as opposed to just running down my list and making sure I have at least touched some pajamas, touched a shirt, some shoes and hoping I haven’t forgotten something critical. That, and then I wouldn’t have to haul all my computers and this box I’m taking tomorrow and I could also, maybe, get this place in a bit of an order before I go to spend the night at my parents so my father can drive me to the park-n-ride for the shuttle (which reminds me that I do need to snag some cash for tipping and buying my excellent shuttle pass which also reminds me that I need to get my travel playlist together, oh dear oh dear how can all of this fit into one person’s head!)
Apologies for recent followers who must find this kind of perfunctory post quite galling. But this is typically how it goes around these parts. One nice-ish post followed by a hundred posts of me talking about my packing situations. You are, of course, in this as in most of adult life, free to answer questions and I am free to decide if I care to answer (though I think my delight over being asked anything at all would override nearly any disturbance with regards to the content of the question itself).
I’m excited about my trip, obviously, but at the moment I’m most excited about skulking about the airport at six in the morning. Inasmuch as one can skulk with the TSA and being herded about like cattle. The sunlight does magical things under the tent of the terminal as it rises. The sleepy workers set out their prepackaged danishes and every now and then, there’s a noise and a gust and hundreds of people shoot into the sky. It’s amazing.
I get the best rushes of creativity sitting there when there is no where to go and nothing to do but wait for the time when we all get to blast off together, this collection of strangers. So seemingly random, so seemingly disparate and disconnected, but each having this magical thought of spending the necessary time in the heavens to arrive somewhere else on earth and have what they hope will be the best experience of their lives thus far. Or, perhaps, at the very least memorable. It always surprises me how far our little caveman heads have thought ourselves. Up into the firmament. So that we can be oceans apart but we can suffer a bit of discomfort and disorientation and find ourselves together again. And then, despite our great affection, we’ll suffer that same discomfort to escape one another again. Life is essentially absurd. Camus was right in that regard, at least.
One more day. I will be pinned to the wall and snakes and flames will find my feet, but day after tomorrow, I have a date with a plane.