found this in a notebook under a bunch of papers in my closet when i was looking for something else; don’t even remember when i wrote it

saying yes to all the wrong questions

there was a time when being at the airport made me happy, but now i know that no matter how many miles i travel – i’ll still be there – i’ll still have myself to deal with. this trip is making me itch, because i can’t wait to be returned to people i love. where there is love and lots of safe spaces.

i call jules from the terminal and he asks me to describe the carpet. straight away. it looks like wild chickens ran through paints of burgundy, blue-green, light and dark tan and were let loose to scatter their footprints on the expanse of the tight looped rug. it’s cheap. i say. carpet tiles. not hypnotic or mesmerizing. but something from which to avert the eyes. i wonder if they ever sell the seats on discount or used – black leather and chrome. he doubts it.

there are a large group of us milling about. nervous cell phone talkers. one man is laughing – he’s just said far too loudly -- i’ve been trying to call for the last 15 minutes. the guy behind me just keeps making calls. real estate. he’s going to seattle.

i get off the phone, because suddenly i feel like a huge idiot.