Dear T,

Yesterday I wrote you nearly a half dozen letters. In my head, bien entendu, as there's something about airports that renders me unable to write or read. Of course now I can't remember a damn thing I was scribbling on about.

What is it about airports?

For me, it's a cosmic dead zone. Seriously, everything single thing -- the air, the light, the kiosks, the sounds-- combine to create a physical void. Can you create a void? Hmm, not sure about that-- what I am sure of is that airports make me sick. Truly ill.

By the time I got to Phoenix, all I could think was why why why why was I sitting in this plastic chair staring out the large glass plate windows onto the tarmac. I missed home and felt like a crazy person for ever leaving. Of course, it wasn't lost on me that the very idea of traveling causing me such existential angst was reason enough to travel.

Woman, get a freaking grip.

What is it about airports that cause me to feel so disconnected from life? (Train stations don't have that effect on me, nor do ferries). They quash me; I feel unable to breathe.

But enough of that-- as we flew over Los Angeles I had the same thought I always do when I fly into L.A. at night (which, no doubt, has occurred to countless others): it looks like a microchip, or a circuit board. And this doesn't bother me at all-- go figure. As you well know, to try and make sense of what triggers an unsolicited confrontation with nihilism versus what I see as congruous human output is an exercise in futility. I am nothing if not comfortable with absurdity, mine most of all.

The good news? The moment I saw The Swirl everything fell into place. And this morning, the sunshine-- sweet warm air, green grass, blooming flowers, fresh coffee from the french press . .. well, it feels mighty fine.

I miss you like crazy. I wish we could travel here, together-- in a VW Westfalia, with the dogs! Oh yes-- THAT is what I would like to do and how I would like to travel.

Or, of course, I would be open to having our own private jet-- dogs would be okay with that, I'm sure-- and I'm thinking that might offset my dislike of airports. You know, I'm just saying so that the universe doesn't rule anything out on me. Luxury? Bring it.

By the way, Santa Monica is pretty nice. You know, if you like sunshine, palm trees, ocean-- that kind of thing.

Please be safe-- I know the weather there is horrible. Give the dogs extra love-- I miss you all so much. I'll write again soon.

Bisous ~

got 2 cents?