2005-04-19 - 11:06 a.m.

Trying to hammer out an entry under these circumstances is a task onto itself. Rennovations in the office continue and the arhytymic pounding of hammers, the whine of what sounds like a chainsaw(!?!) and the occasional guttural shout of a hard-hat man's man are slowly worming their way into my brain, instigating a nice chaotic free-for-all between my sanity and the imminent, lurking, ever-present insanity.

Praise Allah I remembered my IPOD this morning.

So I'm back from a rejuvinating, soul surgery type of weekend. It seems as if every aspect of the get-a-way was theraputic in its own right. The intial hour and a half drive to the airport gave me time to relax, listen to some new music I'd picked up and scan the newly greenerized countryside. 6 discs set to random (Rufus Wainright, The Arcade Fire, Stars, M. Ward, Hot Hot Heat, Ryan Adams, Wilco) help to pass the time rather quickly.

Airports love me. In my experiences of flying solo, which total somehwere in the 30's I think, I've never once been delayed, experienced bad service, or had any other kind of ill run-in with the airport or the people working it. In fact, it takes me no more then 20 minutes to get from the front door, to the gate where my plane is departing. I never set off the metal detector, I don't appear to have the visage of a terrorist, and I don't haggle with gate workers over the size of my carry-on. (Which, by the way ladies, is around 8 inches. Oh snap.)

The straight shot flight from St. Louis to Atlanta is a relatively short one, lasting only about an hour and 15 minutes. Just enough time to recline your seat, slurp down a beverage and return your tray table to its up-right and locked position before touching down.

Before I knew it I was playing zombie killer with my nephew. More on that stuff later. It's lunch time.

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