I love the hustle and bustle of airports, TSA security theatre of the absurd aside, I like the engery and people watching. I like flying, but I don't like taking off or landing, esp. landing, in the plane. Most of what I like about flying is that one is set apart from home or your destination, it is a passage of sorts. If one uses the time wisely, be it an hour to Vegas or 11 to London, one can have all the time in the world to de-stress, to catch up, to catch a nap, to daydream, to get bored and restless.

I have had a few pretty intense weeks recently with a lot of thought, prep, work, networking, new allergy rotation diet, and stress. I welcomed getting on the Boeing 777 to London Heathrow at 10pm on Monday night. Last night's plane was 2 hours late out of the gate giving me time to read the whole of the LA Times and have a chat with a fellow passenger. Once the plane lumbered off the runway, I had a decent chicken and rice dinner, and off to sleep I went. I woke up after about 5-6 hours, still feeling a little sleeping and with 3 more hours of the flight to go.

Before departing for the airport, I loaded a bunch of blog posts and articles into browser tabs so that I could catch up and read them whilst waiting for the trans-Atlantic flight to be over. As I read, I am still mildly comatose and have my laptop screen set on the lowest brightness. Yeseterday's tea at dim sum must of been gunpowder green tea, as I have had a nasty sore through since lunch. Stages of awake and allergies aside, it is delightful to be flying under Greenland and Iceland on my way to London-town. London calling...

And for the record, while I was sleeping I did not attempt to open the plane door to let the pixies out, I did ask them to curl up around me to share a bit of heat as it is danged cold in this cabin...