I felt a sad thought with a pricking in my eye, trained on the well-oiled hair of a man across the aisle from me. He might have felt it, too, as he looked up from his memorandum and looked over the heads around him.
After leaving the airport bathroom I called Laura and asked her if I could get a second opinion on something. “Sure,” she said, and I told her it was 10AM here, and would it be too early for a beer? She told me it was 12 o’clock somewhere, and we both paused. “Five, I mean. Oh god, maybe you shouldn’t ask me. I say go for it, though.”
Had it not been for my lingering sinus infection, and the acetamenophin-laced decongestants at Hudson, I would have stopped at the microbrewery’s restaurant. I regretted my week without hugging my mother nearly enough, my car ride to the ABQ that was mostly wordless, as we listened to the CD I made her the night before. Singing along to Josh Groban’s cover of “America”. The last time I’d be able to do that without 20-something guilt, I figured. Listening to music my grandmother would have liked, but not in a cool way. In a Yanni sort of way. Almost worse, in a Josh Groban way. Dear god. I would totally have his babies.
I walked to my crowded gate.
I took the pills and ate some Asian snack mix.
I discovered I had to stop in St. Louis. Again.
I called my dad, who was on a walk.
I can’t wait to call my mom. It’s her birthday. She might think it’s funny I find myself in St. Louis by surprise again. I miss her already.
I’m listening to Christmas music, but I allow it because “O Holy Night” knows no season. That isn’t at all true, but it’s still my favorite. And yeah, it’s Josh Groban. How embarrassing, on so many levels.
But at least my ass isn’t so huge I bump into people’s faces on my way to the airplane toilet.
That was uncharitable. Especially because my ass is probably the hugest it’s ever been, and since I have so much time on my hands I should really work on being a bit healthier, body, soul, mind...anything else I’m missing.