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12/18/2004 Entry: "Flying home"

See you next year.

I'm flying back to Nashvegas early Sunday morning. I cleaned the apartment vaguely, packed my stuff nonchalantly, and invoked a cold one.

In the next panel of the comic strip that constitutes my life, we see in the narrator's panel up in the top left corner: but then--. In the dialog bubble over the head of a panicked man on the phone with thirty sporting messy hair and a woolen grey turtleneck with a hole in the sleeve doing a take we might read, "Joshua Henrietta Christus on a pogo stick! I forgot my passport!" Little curved lines, representing the flying sweat of shock, emanate from his head. In three panels, we see every drawer in the house being opened by a gloved hand with three fingers. Oh, there it is.

Flying freaks me out, man. It's not about terrorists, though, It's about the fear of missing the flight, dealing with creepy security, and insufferably long layovers. These so-called etickets give me the creeps, too. I hate going to the airport empty-handed hoping that they have my reservation on the computer.

Still, the fear of oversleeping a flight far outweighs everything else. I took inventory of my strengths and weaknesses (I call them my fortes and pianos) and decided I am much better at staying up all night than going to bed at decent god-fearing hour. Well, I tried, but I couldn't sleep, okay? So I'm up, baby.