the airport

Recipe for existensial crisis...wander around the airport alone and crying and listening to Elliot Smith. Not a single familiar face in the crowd, gibbering in a bunch of languages I don't understand. I have never been this alone, maybe also never been this independant and free? I pulled my shit together and got on the plane like everyone else. Air Canada gets a big thumbs up from me on account of the personal touch screen monitors loaded with movies I actually want to watch...it helps that they fed me and gave me free whiskey gingers, but the trans atlantic flight was a breeze. My flight was late coming in to toronto, so I had to run to catch my connecting flight to munich. They held the plane on account of little old me, even called my name on the speakers souding through the whole damn airport. You WILL get dirty looks when you're the last asshole to board the plane a cool 10 minutes late. I haven't slept much in the last few days so I feel a little buggy. Everything feels surreal. I still don't understand yet that I am 7000 miles from home and I won't be back any time soon. No matter, I lived through all the airport shuffling, and the fun hasn't even begun.