I don’t know if it’s raining at your house, but I feel like lately there’s been a lot of precipitation from coast to coast.
This morning I hydroplaned my way out of town, spent at least fifteen miles behind a semi-truck that felt like a weird roller coaster/hurricane-simulator then wound my way through a dimly lit, labyrinth style airport parking lot.
Traveling, no matter how small the trip, is never easy for me. There’s always the toothbrush/charger/sanity/inevitable something that gets left behind or stresses me out during that shuffle of change from “normal” to “something like it”.
In the same amount of time it took me to get to the airport this morning, I crossed a few state lines while sprawled across three airline seats–early Friday morning flights tend to be sparsely populated. I rearranged my seating preference at check-in time according to this fact.
No matter how tired I am, I can never really sleep on planes–especially not during short flights. But this morning I laid out on my three-for-one seats and attempted to make it happen. Fake it ’til you make it, or something like that.
I think for a few minutes it worked, then muscle memory kicked in and I suddenly needed to look out the window and grab a free ginger ale from the passing cart.
Muscle memory and auld lang syne tend to be the two most dominant feelings in my life.
After we landed, I picked up a drink to wake me up and sat next to a little boy watching the planes amble in or zoom out from the only available seats closest to Starbucks. He was waiting for his grandparents with his mother and I was waiting for my drink to cool before finding the nearest exit and catching a ride past more state lines.