"You're right dad - let's get the shit kicked out of us by love"

I believe in something, I'm just having a hard time figuring out what it is.

The most frustrating feeling in the world just might be when you're sitting on an airplane in the middle seat, deprived of the benefits of either the window or the aisle (I myself am a window person. I like to see what's going on), and it's a red eye flight, and you want to sleep, but you can find no position comfortable enough to allow you to drift off into that airplane "half-sleep" where you still hear everything that's going on around you, but are too far gone to be able to respond to it, and so instead of sleeping, you sit, cramped by the person who has reclined their seat ALLL the way back in front of you, wishing to god for a bed to call your own. Yeah. Wow.

And yet I keep putting myself through this by voluntarily taking the red eye flights.

I was surprised at 6:39 this morning on the arrivals level of Pearson Airport, when, in a brief glance out the luggage claim doors, I caught the eyes of Steve. Desperate for another look (and convinced that I was imagining things), I jumped up and down anxiously by the door, while the security guard got the entire story of why I was so excited. I was SO EXCITED, and also soon realized that he had actually not gone to bed the night before in order to be able to come and pick me up. I told him he was crazy - 'cause what do you say to someone who does something so nice for you? "Thank you" doesn't seem to be enough. "Take me to bed or lose me forever" doesn't cut it. "I'm speechless" is a cop out. So I called him crazy, with the implicit understanding that I was actually telling him how crazy I was for him. And we've both been exhausted for the rest of the day.

The End (and as I'll be logging precious couple hours instead of blogging, I'll leave this one here until I'm back in Kingston)