It begins...

I'm flying over Anchorage, nearing the international date line [or so says the awful map that United Airlines provides every now and again].

Here's how my adventure has gone so far... I woke up crying and pretty much cried all the way to Chicago. Once I got into Chicago, I almost missed the flight to Tokyo because I haven't seemed to master the art of moving people with my mind. [Any day now!] Airports are busy--as a rule--and usually people are in somewhat of a hurry when they're there. So why is it that there are always those people that just wander around, zig zagging from one side of the walkway to the other, always right in front of you? So there I am, 15 minutes until the plane is scheduled to leave, trying to get around these fools when I hear the announcement, "Final call for Flight 881 to Tokyo." That's when the yelling started. "Move to the left! Excuse me! Outta the way!" After I ran for what felt like 20 miles--and dropped my ticket on the people mover and had to run back to get it--I saw the sign for the gate, and then heard my name over the intercom. I tried to yell at the guy at the gate who had just said my name, but my throat was closing, and my cottonmouth was so bad that no words would form. Thankfully, he saw me waving my free hand around like a mad thing and probably recognized the desperate and wild look in my eyes as that of a person who is terrified of being stranded when expected elsewhere.

When I got on the plane, the stewardess gave me water at the door and tried to get me to talk. Unfortunately, it took me a good five minutes to calm down enough to be able to do anything at all... I guess one of the good things that will come out of this trip is that I'll be in better shape upon my return. [Well, I can hope.]

While in the bathroom, hours later, it occurred to me that I'm probably insane. I have left behind the most wonderful man, and for what? Christ. Have I made a mistake?