The Morning After

I cross-stitched a bit before napping.

Breakfast was quite a bit better than dinner, but I imagine that's because it's a lot harder to screw up a bagel and banana.

Our flight landed at Heathrow-London about an hour early. While trying to find the terminal for my flight to Oslo, I couldn't help but notice that Heathrow has pretty much only one sign--"Baggage Claim." I interpret that to mean "Get the fuck out."

I took a bus to my next terminal and went through security again (where my nipple rings set off the dinger) and am currently waiting in the general lobby.

You see, at Heathrow, they don't tell you where your gate is until approximately 15 minutes before your flight leaves. Then it's a mad, Ben-hur like dash to sprint down the terminal just in time to watch your (empty) flight take off the runway. I think the Brits still like a bit of the old ultraviolence.

Only 300 minutes to go...

Don't Know if God Exists

I'm not a picky eater, but I do believe I've just finished the worst meal of my entire life.

I got the chicken. It smelled a bit like tire rubber, and tasted exactly like (don't ask me how I know what tire rubber tastes like).

I'm also turning into a bit of a germaphobe. The guy in front of me has a wet, hacking couch and everytime he gags and gurgles into a hanky (I'm an optimist; let's assume there's a hanky), I shudder.

The plane is going super fast. In an hour, we were flying over Pittsburgh. Why don't they always go so fast?

I think I'm going to try to nap now.

And the spirit struck me...

I'm in the plane, approximately 20 minutes away from takeoff. I have an aisle seat, per my request, and I feel like the only person not adding to the indistinguishable chatter in the cabin.

Last minute prep work went more or less as expected. Around 6:00 p.m., I realized that whatever wasn't done wasn't going to get done--okay, someone just farted; that was disgusting--and I should just get ready.

I thought I'd feel differently once the day arrived, but I don't. There's a vague sense of leaving a former life behind, of beginning a new chapter in the never-ending story of me, but mostly I feel exactly the same.

I told my Dad goodbye on my Mom's cell phone. I told my Mom goodbye at the airport and was surprised to see her cry. As much as my parents antagonize me, I never try to hurt them; it bothers me that something which is so important to me makes them so sad.

While waiting in the airport lobby, I cross-stitched and started reading a history of patriarchy while trying not to feel like caricature of a spinster.

The flight attendants are passing out eye masks, earphones, and a dinner menu with several impossibly unpalatable options now. And I just remembered I forgot my camera.