A fey mood strikes, with me as a rootless cosmopolitan wanting to soar aloft but DCA’d into submission. Why is flying no fun anymore? Eating dirt would be more satisfying. Especially with a worm or two mixed in. I say this despite the hidden perks of a govvie traveler: priority seating, a free check-in bag and traveling with gracious Mahak making sure I had a cuppa Joe so that, as Melissa pointed out, I wouldn’t have to resort to drinking airline coffee that tastes like dirty socks.
“Pleeeeease, I just got to talk to you. Pleeeeease, I’m a long, long way from home.”
Yeah, I’m mentally feeling Sick as a Dog ‘cause here I sit pushing lonely at 30,000 feet just five miles out. Hmm, now I harken back to a late -70s Mike Oldfield concert, with two drummers and tubular bells gonging my synapses into a pleasant early-AM reverie. Maybe this is how blogging was born? Whispering above the cloud pack moves the mind into some quiescent state of introspection, albeit all too often a melancholy. But no muddy riverside blues for moi today, just quiet jubilation that the damned flight left only an hour late and an adventurous week awaits. I’m feeling fit on a biz trip for the first time in 18 months, so Bang the Drum – duty, honor and Albuquerque await!
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