02.06.14

5:59 p.m.

you should have seen me flying home.

honestly, i was a wreck. i was repeating the numbers of my flights to myself, all day, rolling them over in my mind. checking their sounds, the ease of their timbre. checking to see if they were the sort of things that could comfortably lay on the lips of tom brokaw or dan rather.

i was more nervous than i have ever been before. i was so certain that if i was to ever die in a plane crash, that it would be right then. because i've never really had something to come home to. i've never really had a life that was completely mine.

and now, i do. now i have something that i've created for myself.

on saturday, i wasn't exactly sure how to talk to those people laid out in front of the funeral home. that sea of history, those friends that i hadn't seen in years. i wasn't sure, aside from hellos and handshakes, the occasional forced brief smile.

i wasn't sure what they wanted to hear, what was appropriate. i wasn't sure what the reaction would be if i told them that i am, honestly, the happiest that i've ever been in my entire life.

and it's true. right now, here in san francisco, this is as good as it's ever got.

and, i guess, i'm suspicious. i guess i'm waiting for it to be taken away.

i guess i'm waiting for it to crash.