Ugh. I’m all discombobulated. My stomach hurts. The security lady was kind of rude, and another one made fun of my microphone. Dumb. My flight was not on the screens, and I had to frantically ask a guy which gate to go to (5a!) and I hate asking strangers for help. At least he was nice. Finally trek all the way to the gate, thinking I’m late, and I’m virtually the first one there. Doh.
The waiting area smells faintly of strawberry syrup. Why, I ask. Why.
The internet doesn’t work here unless you agree to give them your credit card number. Feeling particularly lone island-y right now. It’s weird how loud traveling can make your thoughts sound.
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