From my builing you can’t quite see Kastrup Airport, but it’s close; I’ve stood at the end of the hall and watched planes come in to land, lower on the horizon than the top of the high rise airport hotel before they disappear behind fuzzy trees and builings. But it always feels a little bit unreal to think about actually being on one of those planes. As far as I’m concerned, the inside of an airplane is a bubble universe completely disconnected from everything – when I’m not in an airplane, I find it difficult to imagine being in one, and when I am in an airplane I have no concept of the world outside the metal tube*. There are lots of bubble universes around, really – Caltech is another.
My things have been squished into my suitcases, with only a little bit of jumping. My room still needs a last vacuuming, and I have to clean all the nasty out of my refrigerator shelf. Twenty-four hours from now I will be finding my parents at O’Hare; twelve of those hours will be spent on an airplane. Those are just numbers. Now I’m going to go stare at the lights on the horizon, and I will post again when it’s time for me to complain about jet lag.
*Well, actually, I do have some conception of the outside, but only as a horrible place where I’d like to put all the crying babies on the flight