My alarm went off at 5:55 am. Thumping house music began to surge through the darkness of my bedroom. The sun wasn’t up, and it was hard to wake up. Usually the music in the dark, and the thin walls of my apartment are enough to sit me bolt upright and sprinting to the iPod to shut it off before I have time to think about who the music might be bothering, but this morning it was hard to wake up. I spent the week on 4 hours of sleep a night, working hard with my body, so I lay in the cool, clean bed with my eyes closed and didn’t get up until the music really got good. I flipped on the espresso machine and danced for a moment, completely naked, in my kitchen (how do you like that you snooping Buddhists?! Hiii-yah!)

Then I had an unexpected IM conversation, what a pleasure, and then the doorbell rang producing my friend Laura in my doorway. She came for coffee, and to drive me to the detestable Oakland International Airport. Everything is a hassle in Oakland, and it all moves very slowly. One good thing about OAK is the coffee is only $7 instead of the $9 it costs at SFO. Sweet! Bust out the bargain-party hats! Woot! Seriously, the upside is that Laura and I caught up, and I had time to check with the airline about my flight. There was weather on the east coast today and the Philly International Airport was reported to have closed until the storm passed. Southwest said that the flight was on time and it was all good. So we hopped in the car and headed over to Oakland.

I fly back east to pick up my son when he visits me. His mother comes west to collect him. It makes for a pretty brutal 24 hours of airplanes, taxis, luggage, and patronizing officials, but it’s a pleasure… really it is an absolute pleasure. The sound of my son’s voice calling “Daddy!” his arms around my neck, hands on my face, wet lips against my cheeks, and the smell of his hair is worth a year in a box without light. So a bit of awkward travel is no price to pay at all. This trip was supposed to be me collecting my son, and us seeing our friends in San Francisco on Saturday night, and then flying to Mexico on Monday morning to spend a full glorious week in the sun and surf with nothing to do but laugh and play.

I checked in online, already had my boarding pass, so this was all supposed to be a snap. The line to get through security extended beyond the baggage claim area. It was an epic line dude. Seriously. Fucking George Bush and the ass holes who bombed the WTC. Fuck you guys. Flying is so weak now. I remember being able to fly with friend’s tickets, gift tickets, no id, no x-rays, nothing. The pretty stewardess’ played cards with me, I even met a Norwegian girl on a flight to Europe when I was 16 and we made out for hours in a row we had not been assigned, and later joined the mile high club in the spacious bathroom. It’s a little different now. Kinda like the trade we made from Quaaludes to Zoloft. It’s a bad deal… Regardless of however old, loose, and biased I am, there I was, kinda starting to wake up at the end of this massive line to take my shoes off and x-ray my belongings, when the contents of my morning IM conversation returned to me. I turned around and looked at the man standing behind me in line as if he were my friend, or might have some insight into the sudden surge of joy which was spreading through me. He looked up at me from his newspaper, and I grinned at him. He looked like I’d asked him for money, poor bastard, so I turned back around and sent a text message asking if we’d really had that conversation, or if I was dreaming. I looked at the wall, listening to the silence of the airport, searching my memory, wondering if I might still be asleep now.

About 10 minutes before the plane was supposed to take off they announced that the flight would be cancelled due to weather. I wasn’t surprised, but how to resolve the hassles of schedule, weather, getting another flight, and returning to SFO with my son by monday at 7:15 am was beginning to blind me like the flood light on a cop car. I wandered the airport, which actually smells of pizza and jet exhaust, in search of the customer service desk. While I was walking I text messaged my family, my son’s mother, and Laura letting them know that my flight had been cancelled. Then i got a reply from my friend assuring me that the content of our conversation was indeed real, however, not to get all excited or to freak out because things are what they are, as they are. Well that was kind of like an obfuscated little mint, or a chocolate covered bee. So i decided to clarify. I’m funny… and we’re all really funny… I really don’t like to be misunderstood or underestimated. It happens all the time. I do it too. It’s totally normal, but in this instance I felt that fear was on the fast track to the finish line. I hate it when fear wins the race. So I sent a voice message expressing myself more completely (with tone, tense, and everything.) I felt good about that, and then I decided I am the biggest dork in the world and should probably accept “yes,” however conditional, cautionary or convoluted, for an answer. What a nice answer. I’m a dork, there’s no two ways about it.

The woman at the Southwest customer service counter had deep brown skin and bright green eyes. She stared into my eyes as we talked. She was intense and thoughtful. After doing some checking she said that there was nothing she could do for me here at the airport, and that I would have to call the 800 number and they could sort me out. My phone went dead, and I had no choice but to return home. I had the wall charger for my phone with me, but it turned out that going home was the right thing to do.

I took the shuttle to the train station, Bart over Oakland and under the bay, then I took the muni metro to church and market and walked the rest of the way home. It took about 3 hours to get home. I was leaning against the doors of the metro train regretting being such a big dork, inspecting the dubious hairline of the world’s shortest disco business man when you pushed through the crowd. My heart jumped. You only make these phantasmic appearances when all is well, so I grinned at the hallucination of beautiful you standing between me and the disco business man. You reached up gently and grasped the handrail, and burst into tears.

I wanted to shove the little balding man aside and embrace you. First wiping the tears from your cheeks with my dry fingertips, and then kissing your whole face, your closed eyes, and then your lips. Oh… I want to make everything wonderful for you. There are a million things I want to say, share, write, give, express and offer you… I wish any one of them could heal you, or give you anything you need. The castration of my limited views on love and relationships is crushing. The sentimentality is charming, but these are all the ropes which hold me tied to the ground. I am going to fly, and meet the face of love in the sky. I am seeking the unconditional love I feel for you… I feel it all around me. I believe in it. Needless to say, sensing quickly that a) this was not really you standing there on the train in tears with a disco business man between us and this woman would not appreciate my affection, and b) there had been no reply to my message. So my heart went out to you, and the weeping woman on the muni metro. Instead of accosting a stranger I decided to compose an additional overture of love and devotion and send it off quickly before I could edit it, doubt how it might be received, or allow any fear to creep into me. I really don’t like it when fear wins the race. So I cast off my clothes and sprinted for the ribbon which was stretched out before me at the end of the tracks. It’s not a life and death situation, these are only the time trials.

when I got home I re arranged the flights, booked a hotel, and jumped into bed and took a deeply uncharacteristic nap. Yes, I know. My napping friends… I grieve you to no end about you and your goddamned napping. We could have coffee! We could be having sex! We could both be exhausted, hallucinating on the muni metro! Why on earth would you ever nap?

I have to pause and enjoy a happy grin, and a deep laugh at myself here.

True to form, I slept all afternoon and woke up feeling more exhausted than I had when I flopped myself onto the bed. See? That’s why I, personally, don’t like to nap. I woke up in time to say goodnight to my son, and now I’m sitting here in the blue light of the San Francisco twilight, all packed and ready to go. I find myself looking at my phone compulsively to see if there’s any sign of a reply. I laugh out loud because I’m sure I have offended someone, you probably, in my exhausted pilgrimage from a tender farewell to the hallicifuge of mass transit and a sweaty walk home. But my heart is light, and there is a crispness in the air now. I am flying out tomorrow to spend an evening in a hotel next to the airport in Philly, collecting my son in the morning, and returning here on Sunday night. We leave for mexico on monday morning. Whatever else might be wrong in the world, everything is right. Everything is wonderful. And with that, I offer you a cup of peppermint tea with just a dash of honey in it, a long, light, devoted kiss on your precious forehead, and whisper softly in your ear…

“Goodnight.”