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Unsure of traffic conditions and always apprehensive about unexpected delays when traveling on a tight schedule, I asked Jason to have me at the airport early. He made sure my luggage and self arrived without complication and we said our thank you and goodbyes. I missed him before I even stepped out of the car... as I did Sean and Greg yesterday. Those three guys represent seventy-five percent of my closest male friends on the planet. Unlike every other time I've flown anywhere, I did not have any carry-on baggage, so once my suitcase was checked at the terminal, I was unencumbered to meander the airport until boarding began. This turned out to be a good move on my part because, also for the first time in my flight career, I was the only person at the Continental terminal when I arrived and thus unnecessarily early for my flight. I chatted with the gentleman running the check-in since he seemed bored standing there with no customers. They had implemented a new policy at LAX requiring that all baggage must be checked unlocked. Since I was unlocking my case, I decided to grab my laptop and go find a place to wait. Alas, back to the carry-on game. One grande non-fat latte later, I was standing in front of a wall of books trying to decide between a Jack Kerouac collection, Nerve: Literate Smut, or The Catcher in the Rye. Maybe sleep on the plane would be better? Unlike my flight from Houston to Los Angeles, the gate area was empty by comparison. I found a quiet corner and opened my laptop lid with the intention of some mind numbing time killer... solitaire or the like... instead, I found a forgotten little postcard tucked inside and I never seemed to make it to the power switch. It was for her. The her from the phone call last week. I wasn't going to send it. I wanted to, but I just couldn't. I sat there staring at it for a little while and without even consciously realizing what was transpiring, my fingers were navigating entirely too many features on my cell phone to find a number that I do not know and have only dialed once before... her number. What the hell was I doing? What was I thinking? I was at the gate waiting on a plane taking me to a sleepless night of getting to another plane and another week or more away from anything remotely close to a normal and familiar environment. It rings... a lot. My mind suddenly returns from vacation and I realize what is happening... I hang up. I'm an idiot. It's at that moment that I realize that Melissa was right. I am a chicken. Put me in a room full of strangers and I'm at home... guys, girls, no matter... this is different. This uncomfortable avoidance has only happened once in my life before... with Jessica... a name from my past that is not spoken often and with good reason. What makes this "her" different than anyone else? What make me react like Stan from Southpark whenever she's around me? "Hi Clayton." Bluuuuueeeeeeeech! I decide I'm not going to let this happen. I call again. I get that creepy feeling of weirdness like when the guy from Swingers keeps calling that girls answering machine. It rings... a lot. She answers. Everything I say sounds retarded. I am truly an idiot. The sound of her voice during our short conversation painted a smile on my face. I don't even know her really. Why did I call? I hate my spontaneity sometimes. Acting on feeling is what got me to Houston in the first place. One second I'm in Paris, France on vacation from my Virginia Beach home... the next second, my Land Cruiser is hydro'd with all my clothes and belongings that were in the shape of large furniture and I was driving across the country on a romantic impulse. You'd think I would have learned by now, but some things that should be ignored simply cannot. What is life without passion for living it? I shook it off as the voice filling the gate area slowly faded back from Charlie Brown's teacher to find clarity in that of the gate attendant. Time to board. Big planes with little population are pleasant in even the most awkward and uncomfortable economy seat. The air is clear and my mind is still lingering in the past thirty minutes as the taxiway lights periodically fill my tiny porthole with that soft cobalt glow that I deeply enamored with... I find that color soothing and warm. The winds were such that take off was over the water... as I would think the ocean breeze would dictate more often than not. As we made our initial turn toward our destination heading, the sparkling orange glow that was the Los Angeles basin was slowly upstaged by the brilliant white reflection of the full moon over the Pacific coastal waters. Mountain silhouettes in the distance cradles my vignette and I lost myself in the ripples in the moon's glowing reflection that were most certainly roaring surf to the denizens below. Picturesque and glamorous in it's implication, the scene outside my window faded slowly... leaving nothing but the white ambiance of passing atmosphere and low hum of the busy turbines that carried nothing but the black night and navigation lights to my eyes. Los Angeles was gone. With rational thought completely regained and my short vacation behind me, the realization of three and a half hours of the little boy behind me kicking my seat and the bland, dry misery of the prison food forthcoming enveloped me. My fears substantiated, the mystery meal was some type of breaded chicken-ish product between bread sufficiently stale to choke a pigeon in Central Park, an apple of uncertain granularity, Ruffles potato chips (which I hate), and some form of chocolate containing marshmallow goo. Airplane food is however, better than some of the sustenance offered on-board the ship when I was in the Navy. I can remember stealing single serving cereal boxes and prepackaged peanut butter and stashing them in my locker for days when the food was so bad I couldn't eat it. I remember a lot of bad things from that time in my life... but the years tend to bur some things into a more palatable reminiscence. Maybe that's the minds self protection mechanism kicking in? My eyes are burning from tired contact lenses and lack of sleep. Even though I had the opportunity to sleep as late as I wanted this morning, I was restless and didn't sleep well. I found myself the first to wake in the house. So much for waking up to the coffee grinder 3 days in a row, eh? Of anyone I've ever met, Jason makes the best coffee. It's a natural born talent. This would, in my opinion, be a fine opportunity to take a nap, but I again find myself unable to rest. Half way to Houston at flight level 330 with 6 year old feet doing Dance Dance Revolution along my seat back to the rhythm of their Gameboy's game du jour is not the ideal condition to successfully lull me into never-never-land. I've arranged for Maria-Elena to bring Éclair to the airport when she picks me up. She can't stay the night because I am leaving to early in the morning, but I had to see my little puppy before I left Houston again. Being away from Penny, Bianca, and Éclair is the hardest part of being away. I almost forgot, I managed to get a room at the Antler's after all. They were "completely sold out" yesterday, but when I called today (and got a different booking agent), they mysteriously could squeeze me in... and reportedly had no cancellations in the mean time. Personally, I think they built an extra room onto the hotel last night while I slept. No matter... at least I'm staying where I want to stay. I'm definitely making use of the hot tub this time around.