Travel Journal #1

At the Airport

I'm sitting here waiting to fly to Houston. Sitting here with 100 other people going about their business, talking on their phones. I left mine at home. I feel disconnected; discombobulated. There is something strange about this trip. It is foreign, for so many reasons. I almost cried on the way to the airport. I don't know why. It just seemed sad; like the end of something. Like I'll never get this back; be back in this place.

I stayed up late last night; getting organized and re-organized. I still feel like I'm forgetting something. And I feel empty. Unreal. Invisible. I want a re-fill. I want to wake up. Why am I the youngest person in the terminal? Why did they pull all the over 70 people aside for the in-depth security check? Is AARP the new terrorist organization? There is confusion everywhere. Around me. Inside me. A cubist jungle of ideas, jargon, and overheard conversations with the wife, the kid, the boss, the lover, the friend. I am silent. I don't want to participate. I want to fly.