Traveling solo is the only time I am ever on time. Ask anyone that knows me... they will tell you I am perpetually late for everything. I hate it. Hate it. But not once in all of my travels have I ever been late. I casually stroll through the terminals sipping the nectar of the Evil Empire, watching the show. I love airports. I truly do. I love watching the interactions people have at the gates... the joy, the sorrow... the frustration of the hurried parents. Airports are one of the only places I have found where everyone's vanity is checked at the front door. No emotional guards... just sweat pants and oversized sunglasses. Reality. Raw. Love it.
I always feel like I am forgetting something though, because of the ease and calmness at which my travels take place. I do always double check the wings, though - you know... runaway circus clowns or that damn Chucky doll. Creepy times. One of these days something is bound to happen. It always does to me - worst luck ever. Worst. As we take off, I feel the slow release, albeit temporary... the sweet, slow release of stress, tension... all the fucking drama.
Nothing left, but a mental and emotional void. [yawn]
...to be continued.