sleeping through

I'm at the airport. It's the day after they decided liquids are too dangerous for carry-ons. I'd heard rumors that airport security was making mothers drink the breast milk in bottles before they could get clearance to board. I've not seen this myself since I arrived, but the idea of it gave more gravity to the homeland security situation than the "now elavated to orange alert" posters I saw at check in. I was scouting for an infant with a mother and diaper bag attached so I could see how bad things really were.

Airports aren't scary to me, though I know they are for some people. For me, airports are more often sad. Even when I'm about to head off on a fabulous adventure, they always make me feel a little melancholy. It's a place full of displaced people, all anticipating some sort of shift. No wonder it makes people nervous and suspicious that something unpleasant might happen, there's something in the air. No, not anthrax. It's change. I'm preparing with a strong IPA and a melatonin tablet (overly optimistic of me, though--as ideal as it might sound, I never, ever "sleep through it").

There have been some departures in my life recently. They've left me unsettled. I'm in transit and as exciting as that can feel sometimes, I also have my usual melancholy. In a dream the other night I fell alseep and woke at an old boyfriend's family's vacation home in the mountains. (Dreams with sleeping in them always really get to me--there's more believable because of the context, you know?) The old boyfriend told me I had slept through the 14 hour drive and we were there, with his family, on a trip I'd never planned on. But what seemed most unbelievable to me wasn't where I was, who I was with or what was happening around me, it was the fact that I'd slept through. As I mentioned, not my style.

Most times I feel all parts of a shift. I cross at the fast moving part of the stream and fight the currant all the way. I'm wondering about this strategy recently. Maybe I could make things easier on myself. Maybe I'm not learning enough from the struggles to make them worth it. And maybe the best thing to do is order another pint, have the stewardess bring me an extra pillow, and pass out. Afterall, unless the breast milk bottles (of which I still haven't seen a single one in an hour and a half) are all filled with explosives, I'll wake up in Philadelphia in the morning. All I have to do is ride out the time, but sometimes that feels impossible to me. But I'm in the airport and this place is all about change. So, here's to sleeping through...