As Promised

The airport makes an interesting hotel, especially for one who is hell-bent on not dropping off to sleep in such a place. It isn't as if dozing wouldn't be a mercy, but there are disadvantages to flomping in an unsecured area, knowing that once exhaustion sets in a sound sleep could last for hours, resulting in a missed flight or stolen valuables (in this case, Coco-kun and the prize dead fish I am carrying around in my backpack; losing personal documents is also a concern). At this point I am not certain which would be more traumatic - theft or a missed flight - and I am almost inclined to say that, barring the disappearance of aforementioned valuables, the latter would be more disturbing. Thieves, if you are inclined to pinch things, please refrain from swiping my pinnard or my fish or my trusty sidekick; removal of such items would be a cruelty too great to be fathomed.

So yes. In lieu of actually getting and sleep I am roaming the airport, laoptop in hand, and sitting guard by my two possession-laden bags, nibbling away at the remaining food in my lunch sack (the orange is for breakfast, so no touching that, and the sunflower seeds are for tomorrow afternoon with the pack of emergen-c and - oh yes - the chocolate) and faffing away on the internet. Hurrah for free wireless! I can thus while away the night in the company of Oliver Wendell Douglas and his French-speaking wife Lisa (who /knew/ a sitcom from the sixties could be so entertaining), or trailing the Doctor around to his various adventures (I'll admit, that got old rather fast; this staying-awake deal isn't half that it is cracked up to be), or poking through Odd Compliments.

But it isn't keeping me awake anymore. Sheer willpower is preventing me from dropping off, as I am fairly holding my eyelids up in order to keep from flopping over onto the floor. Because I am sitting on the floor now, see; it isn't exactly good form to sprawl over an airport like you own the place, but exhaustion reduces inhibition and I have not the slightest qualms about flushing out the corners, so long as I am not obliged to sit out in the open. Though I did for a while, sit out there, because Coco-kun needed charging and... the plug...

Nope. That was not me nodding off; not at all. I'm not even sleepy. ... Now let me pull out my last Babybel cheese wheel to keep my concentration going in several different areas so I don't crash face-first into the carpet, and no, jumping jacks is not included as an option for stimulation. It would work only for as long as I happened to be on my feet. Gaaaaah. Where are five-hour energy shots when you need them? First thing tomorrow morning I know what I'll be buying, just for sipping when the hour requires.

There is a great big rainbow mural on the wall behind the escalators and the security desk, and I did not notice it until just now. The ceiling is comprised of wooden panels and involves some fancy curved support structure beams. Does it matter? No. Does staying awake matter? Yes.

Meh.

Five hours. Five hours left, then I can board the plane and sleep for two thirds of an hour or so. And then there are the four hours in another plane, and in another plane...

Yes, it is an adventure. As it happens, I have fallen in love with traveling by train; the speed and the rocking and the roominess and the sky and raised rails and ambiance are by far the most agreeable of the options, if such a decision can be made in one opportunity for acquaintance. Granted, it didn't have a completely objective trial; I'd come from two buses, and of course those were going to be noisier and more cramped and far more uncomfortable, not to mention that the seats were murder for my tailbone. Try sitting up straight in a bus seat designed to compel you to slump, and you will see exactly what I mean. I spent nearly the whole trip discreetly wriggling around in an unsuccessful attempt to find a position that /didn't/ put agonizing pressure on my sacrum, all except for the fifteen minutes or so in which I somehow managed to keel over and rest my head on the shoulder of the lady sitting next to me. Awareness that I was touching something that did not happen to be my seat induced a rather rude awakening, but there was no comment from my seatmate, an older lady whom I am not even sure spoke English. There is the possibility that she did not notice, as she too had been snoozing for the majority of the trip.

Four and a half hours. Four and a half. Oh, may the counter reach zero shortly, because my endurance is giving way. Back to Green Acres I go. Or perhaps, in this case, SHINee would be more effective.

Anything, She Says?

As it happens, I am procrastinating. Amtrak customer service is already dialed on my phone, and I should be in the office calling them right now, but instead I am dibbling into blog material, excusing travel responsibility for the sake of rattling away at several people who are fishing for updates. Ahem.

(Note to readers: My procrastination was derailed after this paragraph, and I have resumed this at about the time I should be embracing my feather pillow and slipping into heavy sleep. Therefore, I must insert a disclaimer regarding the content of the post included herein, informing you all that I am not responsible for what I say at this hour. Basically I'm putting my hands on the keyboard, closing my eyes, and pattering out anything - anything at all. Koala, this is your fault.)

The difficulties with Amtrak were quickly resolved, thanks to some exceedingly patient and polite customer service representatives (humans, by the way, which proved a nice vacation from Greyhound's incessant robotic assistance. Amtrak has robotic CS agents as well, but there is a way to circumvent them without repeating the same menu multiple times.). Imagine my surprised delight to discover tonight that I could obtain the tickets without tapping a fair stranger's wallet; those tickets are now in my possession and all portions of the planned journey adequately financed.

Later today, after I flomp for some decent rest, I must collect all my possessions, minimize them if at all possible, and pack them away in two compact bags. Laundry must be done, a phone call made (because I /could/ walk four hours to the airport, but do I really want to do that? In a city I don't know, without a reliable map? ... No. Just in case you were wondering.), the house vacuumed one last time, all the weeds in the orchard pulled, and notes written to my fellow housemates. I also need to draw maps for all the stations I will be getting to by sidewalk, using Mapquest and Google Maps as references, and develop emergency back-up plans for the (scarily likely) scenarios that I a) get lost, b) am approached by disturbingly creepy strangers with less than appropriate designs (this strategy involving knee to the groin, elbow to the face, and a dictionary over the head for good measure; what a pity I neglected to bring Webster's. ._.), or c) am accosted by a large and suspiciously hungry-looking dog who refuses to make friends when I speak to him.

The maps stress me the most, actually, because, while I can pull off the orchard and the ride to the airport and the vacuuming quite well, along with the printing of tickets and such, I fear getting lost in a maze of streets so much that the mere thought of it puts queasies in my stomach. There are so many alleys and byways, and not all the roads are marked with perfect accuracy, and... and and and and and - ! But once I'm actually marching along on my own two feet, I'm certain it will fall into place without much trouble. After all, I do have relatively sturdy legs, and a decent head on my shoulders, not to mention two eyes (pay ATTENTION, January) and two arms for getting me through sticky places.

Signing off rather abruptly, because these eyes must close if they are to be expected to do anything other than blur over come dawn...

~ Donny Yodel

Silence Broken

Because the silence is indeed deafening...

 

Five days to go before I hit the road, bouncing from one city to another and then yet another, taking four different forms of transportation in my trek from west to east coast. Despite the imminence of this new and, in part, frightening adventure, days and nights are whirling together into one kaleidoscope of grey-toned fragments, helping to shut out some of the anxiety over fluctuating plans at the conclusion of my jaunt three thousand miles away from home.

 

The avocado-and-cheese sandwich I am nibbling is strangely tasteless, and my fingers are having difficulty finding the right keys to strike, let alone my brain figure out how to spell them. If this is what shopping does to me, there is yet another reason besides sheer dislike to avoid the practice; I wonder that anyone ever called it a therapeutic occupation for females when it does little more than induce stress and exasperation. There is a slight possibility that barely hydrating today (why am I thinking of fish-vampires, now, and drowning?) is contributing to the daze; however, I am not complaining. Better not to think about the future, ne, when it takes such fickle shape?

 

There are some things I will never understand, and one of those is the capacity of men to be absurd. Carol and I stopped for dinner in a Greek restaurant the other day, and after I'd collected my gyro and fries and exited the premises she turned to me, snickering, and asked, "Did you see him eyeing you? He was scoping you out, girlfriend." Staring rather blankly at her, I admitted that the thought had not even crossed my mind; I'd been too busy fighting her over the fact that she had no reason to object to buying me a frugal meal instead of the gourmet plate - both would do equally well for my stomach and one would be ever so much kinder to her wallet. Needless to say, I won; after she attempted to order for me I took the liberty of doing my best puppy-eyes impression for the cook: "Plea~se put in the ground lamb for me." But it /really/ wasn't intended to do anything more than win him over to my side of the argument and get him to alter the order...

 

Yeah. Absurd.

 

Anyway.

 

Writing blog posts when my brain is long asleep and my eyes half followed is not a good idea, but I wasn't about to leave you without something for yet another night, okaa-san. This lacks both substance and cohesiveness, but at least you will have three paragraphs before I set about snoring; tomorrow is a long day of clinic, Saturday is a graduation party for which my wholehearted [half-asleep] help has been recruited, and Tuesday morning I must be up at five AM to set out alone into the world, trying my luck with an empty pocket and a handful of charm to use on strangers.

 

I'll let you know how it goes, or if it goes at all. There is the possibility, see, that I miss my connecting flight and end up stranded in Chicago, a prospect which I do not find particularly encouraging. Though I suppose it would provide material for more than one interesting blog post; of late the ones I manage have been rather dull.