clichés

I woke up yesterday smothered by a dream that would not loosen its grip. In it, I was leaving an airplane. I could not gather my belongings. I would pack one item and two others would spill out. I was alone on the plane, struggling to keep all these items contained, but it was no use. I finally left, leaving behind God knows what.

It’s too obvious, I know, but there you have it: me trying to contain all that is with me, required of me, presented to me, failing in the end as it all scatters to my feet.

My flight this morning out of Madison was at an awful morning hour. I had had an argument last night (or, rather, someone found me argumentative and I argued the incorrectness of this assessment) and so I did not sleep well (at all?), being sensitive to disturbances of any kind these days.

Recently, I had been noting that our airport has only bars, plus a stinky stand of packaged foods and isn’t that just typical. Not anymore. Since my transit through here two weeks ago, it has acquired a food court. Can you predict what it has to offer? Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, Quizno’s subs, the Great Dane Brewery. It’s sort of snapshot of middle-Madison, no?

I only wanted a strong coffee. Finding none, I went to the gate and tried not to sleep. I missed my boarding call, but I swear, they changed announcing agents. I had been listening for a female voice.

In Minneapolis, it is snowing. Hard. That’s fine, I expect that this is a city of snow. Snow in Minnesota, sunshine in Arizona. A stereotype I can live with, especially since my final destination is Tucson.