unnatural long

even without up-leading events such as those described to complicate the situation—even while flying into a moving sun (or away from it) and over a sea in whose changeless waves is inscribed an arbitrary line, determination of where a new day begins is never an easy task. thus, i choose, in the fine tradition which governs invisible clefts of all varieties, to draw mine between countries.

arriving in the Washington DC airport i'd not planned to visit on this trip, with an hour before the next gimpy leg to Philadelphia, and because of each of these two factors (the many alterations since i'd first bid fond farewell to my combined 46 kilos, and the time frame involved in avoiding further changes), i was not optimistic about successful retrieval of the box and hiking backpack. thus, i proceeded straight to someone who appeared to be presiding over both a desk and the scene, in hopes that he would be able to grant me some sort of waiver from the (useless) directive about collecting baggage, walking the hyperbolically few steps through the customs declaration, only to re-capitulate them into the depths of cold and flying storage. without the usual hang-ups and shame (had i not arrived home to My Country? ahem...) pertaining to English used in No Uncertain Terms, i informed him that there was absolutely no way my box and backpack would appear in Washington, as they were bound for Philadelphia and, for various reasons, beginning with the non-missed flight (which no one could have known, until it had really departed and i had obtained new routings, that i had not-missed—by which i mean: not been on), might not even be there—but certainly not in Dulles airport. pausing for breath before another plea (this one slanted towards my need to catch another flight in less than an hour), just as the guy was wondering if, indeed, it would behoove him to believe my likely tale and act on my behalf, i happened to glance out of the corner of my eye—just as both of my trusty ragged luggages came trundling down the conveyor belt. i opened and closed my mouth a few more times (for good measure) before running away.

that i did not declare this phenomenal unlikelihood/ness—with the usual combination of bleary-fatigued and bright-youth-eyes-traveling-alone that never fails to get me through customs without a hitch, despite my carrying things like miracles—probably allowed me, within 10 minutes, to have, again, offered up the bags.

this is where the changed day question becomes important: at the point i reached Philadelphia, it was really 11pm (Friday) and i had no idea whether anyone had received my message ("if you want to call someone, dial 001 first," says the woman reissuing a ticket in the Frankfurt airport; "no, actually, it's 387," not-said i before calling the most reliable information-passers of the bunch). moreover, i was under the impression that, even if someone were to come and meet me, there would still be the hour drive to Akron. it turned out that the very woman who had raised so much of the necessity for my being there at this time (let us call her E, as should be all those who kick in the shins) was almost there to meet me; she couldn't look at my eyes for several minutes. apparently the plan had changed; apparently the two of us would stay in the Philadelphia area for the night, conduct all of the Debriefing activities from there.

it wasn't in preparation for what i would say, but from exhaustion and thirst, that i stayed awake until the morning (bringing the day's count up to: two): these words i have been hollering into the abyss for two months, that i have, since, codified into a document so tightly reasoned that it is, to the naked eye, shorn of all hysteria—all the individual having-been-wrongednesses transformed into general principles. it was how it had to be, though.

i wasn't expecting much, and got exactly such: moralising and toast. that was, also, i suppose, how it had to be.

a certain name-brand humility translated into my having to purchase my own new ticket (for the PHL-ORD flight i had missed on Friday night), but at 5pm i had negotiated my way through the rererechecking of the baggage (this time, massed separately, the hiking backpack was 55 pounds, the Box 45: i think i told the guy that i would remove the sleeping bag and, please sir, i was just going home, sir, and no, i did not want any more gruel...and the lie got me out of both payment and complex rererearrangement of belongings).

The Other Family was on the other end, so i neither had to take CTA from the airport—nor did anyone ask me to be home.