Flyover Thoughts

I'll be off to the airport soon for yet another week of efficiency, competence, and professionalism. Not to mention the delightful lunches with client and friends and the shaggy carpets in my hotel. I just realized I haven't got enough clean shirts for the week. Aaaaahhh! This wouldn't be a problem in a civilized part of the world, but I'm not sure my client's location features a dry cleaner. I know for a fact the hotel doesn't.

One good thing about flying out Sunday afternoon is that you avoid the dreaded Monday morning rush. When my project location is a bit more accessible, I get up at 4:30 a.m. on Monday to catch the first plane out. Because I am mortally afraid of oversleeping, I then don't sleep at all on Sunday nights. Fitful dozing, with luck. It's gotten a bit better over the years, but I still show up completely exhausted, and not from hard partying over the weekend.

The airport experience at six a.m. doesn't help either. Long queues of men and women in grey suits, with grey voices and faces to match. They all look the same. Nobody smiles, nobody laughs. Grim determination abounds. It's obvious no-one is happy. And I think, something's gone badly wrong around here. If this civilization is going to the dogs, can't we at least have some fun meanwhile?

In virtue of all this, maybe my current project, in its godforsaken location, actually isn't that bad. Okay, so I have to sacrifice my Sunday afternoon to get there, but I'll be almost by myself on the plane. I'll whip out the novel I am currently reading (Magnus Mills, All Quiet On The Orient Express, highly recommended), not feeling guilty because it's Sunday after all. It's almost as if I was going on holiday.

Except that there's one nagging thought: feeling grateful for not having Sunday off is a sure sign of impending lunacy. Am I going bonkers? Am I????