I'm starting to get nervous. Have I mentioned that I hate to fly? "Hate" is a strong word. "Am terrified to" would be a more accurate way to put it. My hands are already shaking, and I'm still more than 2 hours from leaving for the airport! It's not so bad once I'm there - it's like being on a conveyor belt: get to O'Hare, park, take the train to the airport itself, check in, stand in line, shlep luggage all over, stand in line, stand in line, wait, decide whether to buy one more book and an outlandishly-priced bottle of water for the plane, stand in line, stand in a metal tube (claustrophobia, anyone?), get into the plane itself (enhanced claustrophobia, anyone?), find seat (middle of 3-seat side, 19 rows back), get in and turn on the blower full-blast and buckle up right away, and immediately fall asleep. It's like some kind of airplane-induced narcolepsy, although it's not "real sleep" because I'm basically aware of what's going on. But I guess I snore a little. (How charming.) I don't mind take-off, and that sense that your internal organs would be 2 rows back if it weren't for the seat cover. But the ride...turbulence...the view from the plane...yuck. I'm better off asleep. I crack my eye when the chick comes around offering beverages, and get some juice. Then there's landing, when I could just weep with fear. Well, I could do that the whole time, really. I keep thinking, "We're heavier than air. This cannot happen. We're going to die. These people are stupid to not realize it." It's a litany of logic (and paranoia, I know). So we land, and then there's the million-year wait for the doors to open before I can get the hell out of that metal tube, and into the larger metal tube. And then walk, and then wait, and then get the luggage, and then walk some more. But then...different! Find a taxi! Take the taxi to the hotel! Find some dinner! And by that point, it shall be vacation!
But at this point, I'm still just scared.
I'm also trying to shake off the effects of being really pissed off too early this morning. I was reading a friend's blog, and someone else was dogging her using her Comments function. A number of people sprang to her, I was going to say "rescue" or "defense" but that's not the right way to put it - the point is that she hadn't done anything inappropriate in the first place, was unfairly targeted, and didn't do anything remotely deserving of the attitude that she'd gotten. So I'd think it must've been at least marginally reassuring to have seen the way her acknowledged friends were vocal in support. But it's peculiar and disconcerting that someone - particularly someone hiding behind the veil of "'anonymous' comments" - would bother to be so condescending and mean to another person, on that person's blog. So I kind of snapped. My response to the situation wasn't as all-purpose supportive as some other peoples', but more of a counter-attack to the cretin who chose to go after her in the first place (in the guise of doing the right thing, of all pathetic maneuvers). I don't regret having responded, but I do wish I'd waited until I was a bit more awake, because I might've handled it in a less inflammatory way. That's a sort of vague goal of mine, anyway: to think before I act. Sometimes things just mean too much to wait on, though.
This isn't how I wanted to leave the blog in my absence, but there's not much time now. I've got to shower, pack my last-minute stuff, and get to T.O.'s by 12:15. That includes getting to the Library to drop off some work that I did last night. (3 review journals - am I a dedicated employee, or what? That would be "or what", contestants, since I've been lugging those same journals with me for about 2 weeks. My excuse: our subscription to Publishers Weekly was supposed to have ended in February, so those are "extras" and so their dates shouldn't really "count", right? Yeah, I thought so.) Eh, that's more than 2 hours. No problem!
When next I write, I'll be tan and full of Cuban-infused stories to share...
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