Well, here I am in the airport. What time did I get here? 8.15a. What time is it now? 8.37a. What time does my flight leave? 10a. Sigh.

Of course, had I thought, "It cannot possibly take as long as they claim it's going to take, especially since they have re-instated curbside check-in," I would have been chasing the plane down the runway. I don't mind, especially since the waiting area near my gate has actual electrical outlets, unlike every other airport waiting area on earth. So I can update, like I didn't do when I was sitting up all night, choosing instead to invent another family of Sims and building a big house with a disco and a mechanical bull and stuff.

And why, with the cool skins that come with House Party, do they have a pink-haired boy but not a pink-haired girl? It's discrimination against the pink-haired! So the one that is me in this family has to settle for blue hair. Nothing like as good.

Anyway, I left my house at 7a, exactly as I meant to, got a van quickly with the kind of driver that wriggles through traffic like a tiny silver fish, and was at the bank getting some money before 7.25a. So I figured that I had time to grab some breakfast, and did, then decided to cab it rather than risk a bus, and it took somewhat ages to actually find a cab--figuring out too late that I was downstream from where they moved the Port Authority taxi stand, so every cab coming towards me with his light lit had just picked up a passenger and hadn't turned it out yet.

Finally, my very good, sweet taxi driver saw me from across the street going away, and he pulled over and waited for me to cross the street twice. A very dear man. He asked if I would prefer the Tri-Borough Bridge or the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, that the bridge would cost about $3 more, but that there might be lots of traffic at the tunnel. I opted for the bridge, because I had fucked around with breakfast and getting a cab for the better part of half and hour, and I needed to get to the airport by 8a. 8a, I say!

So he went the long way, not hitting any traffic, and I checked in all curbside-ly, went in for my security check, pulled my laptop out of its case to be scanned separately, and breezed through. I went to the bathroom, bought magazines, and powered-up my slow-starting laptop before I said it was 8.37a, too!

Last night I rehearsed at ATA, which shared space with the Manhattan Criminal Courts building, and the security check-in there took more time than this one. Whatever, at least I know that no-one has any tweezers with them!

Christ, I amfalling asleep. I really can;t, though, since I'll miss my plane and my bags will be stolen. It's 8.56 and we don't bored until 9.30a. Double sigh.

I leave the above with the typos to show exactly how tired I was when I typed that, because those are mistakes that I always correct immediately.

Of course, right after typing that, I fell completely asleep, sitting up, laptop on my lap, chin on my chest. I woke up slightly when they made an announcement, and pushed my Walkman headphones off of one ear, then went back to sleep until they called my group number. I didn't even care if I snored or drooled. Now that's tired!

The flight was fine--I slept more, there was no-one in the middle seat, and the lady at the window was friendly but didn't insist on talking to me. She asked if she minded my putting her book on the middle seat if no-one sat in it, and I answered, "No, for if the seat remains empty, I intend to also utilize it thus."

That, by the way, is an exact quote. I seemingly get a little Shakespearian in times of extreme exhaustion.

I really didn't think anything different than I usually think about when I'm on planes, (I am not anything like a nervous flyer), except for just once. When they made the announcement about how "people in exit rows may be required to assist in the unlikely event of an emergency," all I could think about for a minute was about how all those people who died heard those words, too, and how it turned out that the people in the exit rows didn't have the opportunity to assist in the emergency that did occur.

I noticed that they did not do the regular safety liturgical dance stuff that they usually do, just pointed us to the cards in the seat backs in front of us, I guess because they didn't want us to also think about how all those other things, the seat cushions that could be used as a floatational device, the masks that would drop from the ceiling in case of a sudden loss of cabin pressure, none of it mattered a damn, they were prepared for all of the wrong things.

I didn't want to think about any of that, so I went to sleep and stayed asleep until we got to Chicago.

And then it was Journalcon!

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Last Updated Sun 14 October 20:12:09 2001