Travel Notes, Ruminations, and Whatnot #2—02/01/06 mid a.m.

I am operating on two hours of sleep and not doing it well. It could be that the three hours I got each of the past two nights were not enough. Maybe? I am notorious for not sleeping, but man…

I am about an hour and a half out of Portland. The flight is not crowded—for which I am thankful. A couple of rambunctious, noisy kids who in the past would have annoyed the living shit out of me. But since having the Boy, I find myself infinitely patient and empathetic in such situations. It is a nice change to have made.

O.k., my eyes are bloodshot from lack of sleep and 30 plus hours of wearing contacts with only a two-hour break. I am a little hung over in the form of a headache—exaggerated, of course, by lack of sleep. I look bloated, as though I am either about to start or as though I took my last six meals at a saltlick—and followed with several glasses of brine. Just not feeling that great despite the excitement of travel and impending companionship.

But things are now looking up. Quite up. On the second pass by the sky waitresses, I order a double Makers and Coke. Turns out they don’t have Makers. But they do have a little something called Woodford Reserve. I grin, my testicles sigh (and shift just a little), I graciously accept. In a bar, I would’ve said “Neat, please!” On a plane I have to say, “No Coke. No Ice.” Well, actually, I did say “Neat” at first. But the lady looked at me as if she’d just seen a strange man whose testicles had sighed and shifted and she wasn’t quite sure what to do about it.

You know, if you take two minis (airplane bottles or South Carolina bottles) and dump them into a wide-mouth plastic cup, the result almost looks like a real pour.

Know what else? It drinks just as good too. Foof!!!