Tuesday, May 20, 2003
there is no happy here
"All Americans should carry a box like you do." these are my words of encouragement as a i walk from beacon to boylston with a 20lb box. somehow that gave me the extra gusto to make it there without collapsing, but knowing that this was my second trip and i'm in for a third makes me hang my head low. third time is a charm and i'm out of breath and out of boston, just like that.
no snacks on board my flight, so i order the "veggie sandwich" at the airport deli. the deli worker speaks to me in spanish and says i look columbian or mexican. no, i'm japanese. she insists that i learn spanish. my "veggie sandwich" turns out to be a cheddar cheese sandwich with lettuce and tomato on a big roll -- no mayonaise, no mustard, plain and dry. it doesn't taste so bad. i burn my tongue on my tea and it's time to board my plane. the woman next to me takes a nap, and i sleep till atlanta.
in atlanta, i see a Crystal Burger. their thing are minature hamburgers that smell like burnt fish and taste like the sand you used to make fake patties with in kindergarten. there is a huge line and i know why i hate atlanta. it's raining so hard that it leaks in through the doors right next to where i sit on the floor watching two boys of varying ages eating pizza with their mother. they are dressed alike. their dad comes and joins them with a crystal burger. sigh. only one more hour then i'm home.
i read a book till i loosen my grip too tired to read. i sleep and once again i'm at the runway. then it happens, boom-boom-boom. i'm home, the dog is licking my face and i'm watching Hitler: The Rise of Evil.
why does this not feel like home?
¶ 12:54 AM
|
"All Americans should carry a box like you do." these are my words of encouragement as a i walk from beacon to boylston with a 20lb box. somehow that gave me the extra gusto to make it there without collapsing, but knowing that this was my second trip and i'm in for a third makes me hang my head low. third time is a charm and i'm out of breath and out of boston, just like that.
no snacks on board my flight, so i order the "veggie sandwich" at the airport deli. the deli worker speaks to me in spanish and says i look columbian or mexican. no, i'm japanese. she insists that i learn spanish. my "veggie sandwich" turns out to be a cheddar cheese sandwich with lettuce and tomato on a big roll -- no mayonaise, no mustard, plain and dry. it doesn't taste so bad. i burn my tongue on my tea and it's time to board my plane. the woman next to me takes a nap, and i sleep till atlanta.
in atlanta, i see a Crystal Burger. their thing are minature hamburgers that smell like burnt fish and taste like the sand you used to make fake patties with in kindergarten. there is a huge line and i know why i hate atlanta. it's raining so hard that it leaks in through the doors right next to where i sit on the floor watching two boys of varying ages eating pizza with their mother. they are dressed alike. their dad comes and joins them with a crystal burger. sigh. only one more hour then i'm home.
i read a book till i loosen my grip too tired to read. i sleep and once again i'm at the runway. then it happens, boom-boom-boom. i'm home, the dog is licking my face and i'm watching Hitler: The Rise of Evil.
why does this not feel like home?
¶ 12:54 AM
|
