I’m at the airport. Getting on a flight to Toronto at 10:30. I had false hope all night that the flight would get delayed because of the snow storm. I know I’m not supposed to wish for that. But I went to bed really late last night, and I am certainly not ready to leave Michael, nor to come back to Waterloo, to school, back to the frenzy. There was a very good chance that the flight would be delayed by a few hours up to a full day.
I hate that kind of hope though. It lets you down so bad when the promise doesn’t materialize. The Wednesday before this reading week I had a huge assignment due the next day, and it would have been just so damn good to get a one day extension on it. There was a chance of a snow-day, and I kept my fingers crossed all night for it to storm up. In the morning it felt sickening when there was no notice of a day off at the university website. Something about going to bed full of hope and waking up disillusioned.
Same feeling now. I could only find out in the morning if there would be any delays. Air Canada will try to get us all out of here on time, it seems. I got here at LaGuardia early to make sure I’d have time to go through the mumbo-jumbo. That all took less than 10 minutes though, so I’m stuck here for two hours with nothing to do. I am sleepy and I miss Michael already. I hope I can sleep on the plane a bit. Zach is picking me up at the airport, which is not just great logistically—I mean screw the exorbitant Airporter and all that —but it will be nice to see a friendly face on the other side since I am depressed already to be leaving New York City.
I had a feeling I would dare call cheesy, lingering with me during my last day in New York. Something about the sadness and inevitability of death. You think you have this time to spend, and it always feels like it’s all ahead of you, your entire life. And then the moments just drip right by, and before you know it, it’s time to say goodbye. Will I miss my life in the end as much as I miss Michael right now? If so I will die a puss.
