of tears and travel

Late last night I returned from Ohio. After a brief reunion with my brothers, the three of us went our separate ways once again. The flight home was a lonely one. I stared out the window, tried to read, tried to sleep, but nothing could take my mind off the two guys I was flying away from. I felt stuck inside the droning white carriage that was indifferently carrying me westward through the night sky. I hated the plane for it. I hated the undersized overhead bins. I hated the stupid safety card in the seat pocket in front of me. I hated the Airfone in the center seat, constantly reminding me that Verizon can let me stay connected and that I can send emails and check sports and stocks for as little as $1.99 a minute. I hated the same inane in-flight programming that always played. I hated the people who incessantly check sports and stocks. I hated the painful lump in my throat. I wanted to burst out crying and hug someone I know. I wanted to run screaming to the cockpit and tell the pilot to turn back. I wanted to see my brothers again. I sat, tears streaming down my face, invisible to the drowsy, listless passengers around me, and waited out the flight. LA has never been so depressing to return to.

The shorter the visit, the harder it is to leave. I guess we don't have time to get on each others nerves. And, I suppose I'm pretty lucky to have brothers I really enjoy hanging out with. They're both great guys. I wish I could see them more often. But, alas, such is the life of a traveler. Anyway, I'll write about the rest of the trip later.