It occurred to me this morning on my way to the airport that every single time I have gone anywhere farther than 10 miles away in the last four months, it has been pouring down ridiculous rain. Can’t-see-the-road rain. Flash-flood-warning rain. The kind of rain that never even happened in Zembla.

Riding down the road in the middle of the night in the pouring rain, however, is an ideal time to listen to the new Decemberists album. It all adds up to be quite intense and dark and moody.

I have decided, by the way, that the worst thing about flying is having to get dressed again and re-pack your bags after going through security. Gone, gone is all the careful work of perfectly packing and organizing your carry-on. We may as well all just start showing up nude with a pile of junk, then get dressed and packed after the metal detector. To save time.

It is approximately 400 degrees inside the airport, and walking from the terminal to the gate involves a series of down-escalators (phobia alert!) carrying you deeper and deeper into the bowels of hell.

I just paid $3 for a bottle of water that is not even cold.

Annnd my flight is delayed. On the bright side, at least I don’t have to worry about missing any connections this time.