Aug. 18th, 2004

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I was pretty frazzled when I got to the airport to come home from Michigan. There had been so little physical or emotional privacy in my mother's house that I hadn't been able to read more than 5 pages in 3 days, and it was really wearing.

Detroit Metro Airport is a badly-designed travel center, apparently intended to make life difficult for most of the people who pass through it. I was there for almost 4 hours, and it was an oasis for me. I sat down on the floor to write a letter, and mailed it. I finished a Kate Ross novel (_Cut to the Quick_) while taking the first real walk I'd had in days. The airport is about as long as Arlington is wide, but with more souvenier shops and worse restaurants. And fewer hills. I was walking past crowds. I even went into the middle of a crowd to get something to eat. But all those people were doing their things, and I was doing mine -- they weren't bothering me. It's amazing how quickly my boundaries fall apart, and I stop being able to take that sort of thing for granted.

talking about books with strangers )

It was a remarkably happy and comfortable conversation, between interludes of reading. Generally, I looked up from my book when the plane jolted and I started to worry about motion-sickness, and she'd set her book aside and we'd chat for a while until the ride smoothed out again. In retrospect, it reminded me of another book-recommending stranger I met, that time while reading in an airport coffee shop. But it's bedtime, so I'll tell that story another time.

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