Countdown: five days. Five days to be sailing through the sky, looking over twenty years of my life, backwards, arriving at the start. It has been too long; way too long. It'll feel too familiar, too cozy, too comforting. I'll want to stay forever, I know it. But, I don't. Eventually, I'll have to return, and that's why I only want to stay a week. Shannon's scared of the flight, I'm not so much scared as intimidated by the familiarity of it all. It can't feel like a place I've never been before; I've tried to make it that way. I suppose I just want to hold hands with Shannon over the Rockies on our way there and stay up there. No coming down. Just flying, just separate from the real world. What do you do on a flight, anyway? It's hard to worry about the world when you're not on it. It's hard to shake in your boots about everything that goes on down there when the ground is a few miles below your feet, too far away to give any normality. You just sit. And fly. And relax. I'm not worried, though. I know it seems it, but I'm not. I'm glad. Because tonight, once again, that wave of happiness came over me, once I was out of work and back to what I hope will be normal someday. I know that I don't have to be flying to experience that silent happiness. I hope it's not too much to ask.