Mornings, and airports

Ugh, mornings are getting rigorous.

Even as I type, I am wolfing down oatmeal and looking at eggs that will also be consumed at a quick pace. I've got laundry in the dryer that wants folding. I got started early so all I have to do is dress and all the other things I have to do before leaving. I tried to get in here to commune with my blog (it really does seem to make me happier), and I have so little time now to do it.

Once I started the new job, I knew ahead of time that the schedule change would present itself in a way that made morning time seem longer than it is, just because being up and moving with purpose at that time was a new event, and the effect would be transitory. Transitory has arrived. I gotta leave in not very long at all.

I still dream of Paris. I don't have much time to do it, but when I can, it gives my brain a pleasant place to reside, to imagine. I had a delicious flashback of walking through an airport, on my way to Paris. What a great feeling that was, in retrospect. Just the bigness of the buildings; the low-level stress "Am I on-time? Yes? Good..." repeat 30 seconds later, constant temporal vigilance); the inundation of other people and yet near-privacy, because they don't know or care what you're doing; and the occasional uniform to either help you along your way, or more prevalent these days, scowl and scream at people who don't line up quickly enough. 12 hours on a plane still sucks, but is worth every minute at the end.

I hope I have the wherewithal to enjoy the airport next time.