I'm writing this at SFO. Aka the only airport where it's necessary to arrive 90 minutes before a domestic flight ,even for a a early morning one. At 430 am I do not expect a line longer than 3 people. Not 10. Just for the first one. Gah.
Was I mean to not let the woman behind me cut in the TSA line? She had a 530 flight, I have a 600 flight, and it was 500. But, well, as it was she jogged pass me on my walk to the gate 5 minutes ago. I think she made it.
It's a little odd, sitting here at the airport. Moving. (Again.) I've been mostly packed for awhile (hello replacement roomies) but yesterday as I was packing the last minute things and the clothes I've been wearing for the last two weeks, things really started to sink in. I'm leaving San Francisco. It's the next step (and a shaky one.)
Plus, packing for it is super hard.
(I'm glad they didn't actually weigh my bags, cuz I was pre~tty close to the limit.)
And as always when I move, I find notebooks and half started stories. I did a first yesterday - straight out tossed one. I had maybe half of the story finished, but I hadn't thought about it at all until it came across my hands again so I figured it wasn't a long lasting idea. Still, trashing a work, literally throwing it in the bin, was a little different then typing it up, tossing the paper, and just letting the document sit on my harddrive.
I guess on the flip side, I'm actually bringing a printed out version of A View That Lacks Stars with me. I've been slowly working through edits - looking over critiques, marking up my printouts, and then making edits and whatnot on my computer. I spent all day Saturday doing it (adding 7 pages to a chapter, isn't editing supposed to make it shorter?) with the idea of doing as much as possible to limit paper weight. But, well, I only got through three chapters.
A full novel of 8x10 paper in my carry-on is not how I expected to travel, but oh well. Maybe I can dig it out on the plane and edit above Denver.