Airport #1

On every world, wherever people are, in the deepest part of winter, at the exact midpoint, everybody stops and turns and hugs. As if to say, "Well done. Well done, everyone! We're halfway out of the dark." On Earth we call this Christmas. --Dr. Who

I'm in the exact same place I was the last time I wrote, except now I'm flying into the past, and my face is pointed west. Those three hours I gain--I wish there were a way to make them more useful, some brilliant act or thought that would leave me able to say, "I had three extra hours of life, and with them, I changed the world." Instead, I'll be thousands of feet in the air, most likely sleeping, probably drooling just a little. Oh, gosh, I hope not. But it could happen. Gross.

I'll be writing more later. Nothing like airports to bring forth large quantities of nothingness. Although, the last one was written in an airport, and I'm rather fond of it.