Gone Gone Gone

I often wonder about what constitutes a day. There are all sorts of days: 'normal' days, days of rest, busy days, birthdays, holidays... All these ways to frame a particular increment of time. I am always fascinated by Travel Days. They are never really counted as part of a vacation or trip, but neither are they any sort of relatively normal day whatsoever.

My Travel Day today consisted of breakfast at Victor's Cuban Cafe and waiting in the MSP airport before flying to New Jersey where I sit and wait again to sit on a plane for seven or eight hours until we reach Dublin.

There is nothing day-like about a Travel Day. Airports are odd no-zones, perpetual purgatories. As far as I'm concerned a Travel Day is when I must sacrifice one day of my life to become part of a big breathing stream of people subject to all sorts of alien prodding and shepherding. But somehow I feel that the sacrifice is necessary... Going to Dublin effortlessly and individually doesn't seem like it would be real. Like receiving x-ray goggles that worked from a mail order. No, the hard work must be done. The feet must swell, the ears pop, the eyes dry, the mind fry on the most mindless airport telecast.

The Newark airport is clean though, and I have a seat to wait for another hour. I have NyQuil to help me sleep so that I can wake up and have breakfast in Dublin. I wonder if they have good coffee?
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