Leaving on a Jet Plane

I rose this morning after far too little sleep with the realization that I had woken up in my own bed for the last time in what is to be nearly a year. A shower helped alleviate the nausea I’d been feeling since last night a little, but not much. After breakfast I realized that I didn’t know how to say “impending doom” in French. You simply can’t go to a foreign country without knowing how to say such a relevant phrase. So I looked up “une catastrophe imminent” and decided that English is a much prettier language.

Paul picked me up with the perfect bouquet of yellow/red roses and loaded up the truck. Mom somehow managed to hold herself together for a goodbye, which was good, because I’ve been falling apart for the past week and I think she knew I would lose it. We drove off into the sunrise, both of us wishing sunglasses were closer at hand. Our ride alternated between laughter and tears, and I was so sorry to see DIA looming closer and closer. When we finally arrived I made a complete scene at the security checkpoint, sniffling through the line and becoming a fountain of drool, snot, and tears when we separated. The rose I brought with me isn’t the peaceful kind of consolation I need. It figures that when Paul finally brings me flowers I can’t look at them for crying.

I hit the bathroom before I went to my gate and immediately realized my mistake; when your face looks like a magenta sea urchin you ought never to look in a mirror. I bought a water (which I can’t take on the plane, silly liquids ban), found my way to A35, and here I sit, waiting to board. The hyperventilation has stopped, and I’m starting to contemplate what might happen if the world doesn’t end once I’m completely on my own. I’ll keep y’all posted.

(written on 8/23/06 at 10:46 am)