Missing the Plane
My plane to Scotland should be taking off right about now. I'm not on it, but I'm hoping Scotland won't have changed a whole lot between now and when I get there next week.
You rarely deliberately miss a plane. There's a certain feeling of power there, an "up yours" to the FAA, the TSA, the long lines, the people herding their luggage about as if they were unsuccessful dogs in Australia. You don't miss the smell of Cinnabon, nor the feel of those chairs that would be more at home in a hospital waiting room.
Problem is, you find yourself sitting around at home, thinking of what a huge world it is, and how you could be out discovering it, right now.
Next week. Scotland can't change that much in a single week, can it?
You rarely deliberately miss a plane. There's a certain feeling of power there, an "up yours" to the FAA, the TSA, the long lines, the people herding their luggage about as if they were unsuccessful dogs in Australia. You don't miss the smell of Cinnabon, nor the feel of those chairs that would be more at home in a hospital waiting room.
Problem is, you find yourself sitting around at home, thinking of what a huge world it is, and how you could be out discovering it, right now.
Next week. Scotland can't change that much in a single week, can it?
posted by e. Readicker-Henderson at 11:04 AM
1 Comments:
I don't think I've ever deliberately missed a plane. I'm not counting plans I change a few months in advance. Scotland ought to still be there, in its early 21st century form, next week.
You read mine once a week? I think I can return the favor.
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