oh my god i’m going to orlando in the morning!
at 4:07 in the morning to be specific.
yes indeedy, at four oh seven in the eh em i will be standing at a bus stop wiping the sleep from my eyes and staring in wonder at the beautiful man choosing to take the bus to the airport with me.
personally, i think he’s nuts; airports suck.
then, as always, i will have to wander through the check-in and the ‘security check’ and then go and sit for two hours and wait for my plane. i will not, of course, sleep while i wait for fear of missing the plane.
there is something so time warplike about traveling by air. i always wonder if i will land on the same planet that i left or if i will appear magically in an alternate version of this universe or time.
there is, nonetheless, a ritual all tied up with flying. i have routines…
i get to the airport to the minute or earlier of the many extra hours suggested to me and stare in stunned stupefaction around the cavernous not-so-welcoming space until i find the hidden counter that allows me to check-in. the airline is irrelevant, this is always difficult.
eventually, i will find it and stand around semi-patiently while looking half asleep. at some point i’ll get to check in and realize that i’ve forgotten something. i can never figure out what in advance but as long as it isn’t my passport or wallet i don’t give a shit.
then, of course, there is the dubious pleasure of american security. yeah. they stare into my bag and i start to wonder if i’m secretly a terrorist. i mean do i really need a stainless steel water bottle to survive four days of talking to and learning from my fellow pilates instructors? can’t i survive with the available water and those piddly assed glasses they’ll provide?
and how about those lip glosses you’re checking? do you really need THREE of them?
seriously how do they make me, the most innocent of travelers, feel so much like i’m doing something wrong?
now, if it WEREN’T five am i would then enter the hallowed secured areas of the airport and wander off to the nearest bookstore, there to dissolve my sorrows in aimless wandering through the shelves. i have a deal, i can buy any book i want at the airport to a maximum of three per travel day, preferably no more than two.
i mean i have to get SOMEthing out of all the torture right?
after books i would head for some sort of food, but again, that will be closed and will have to wait until i land in memphis there to enjoy an hour layover. a lovely hour filled with OPEN bookstores and food. yeah baby.
i love airport book shopping, it’s really inexplicable.
to the young man who asked me where to find women like me.
who raved about how i was his dream woman (only far too old) and couldn’t exist.
to the older gentleman who doesn’t believe that women like me are real.
to all of you wondering where to find a lady who likes cars and hockey and video games and doesn’t care what she looks like when she’s camping?
try looking beside you.
she’s the girl who is happy to hang out with six guys and doesn’t check her mascara.
she’s the girl you ask for advice about the girls who can’t be arsed to talk to you.
just so you know.
oh my god i’m going somewhere warm for four nights and most of five days!
i get to meet nat!
there will be SWIMMING!
and communing with my fellow instructors!
and cool shit to learn!
but right now?
there’s a shower and three hours of sleep…
see ya monday kids.
you know, assuming i don’t land in an alternate universe…