Yesterday, I sat in an airport for six hours. I spent another nine sitting on two planes, which for three of those hours were just parked on the tarmac. If Dante had been exposed to air travel, it would have replaced one of his circles of hell – one of the insignificant ones, like treachery or treason, maybe.
I spent the time being exhausted and hungry. Four hours of sleep and two packs of peanuts just don’t cut it for this girl. I threw back the teensy plastic cups of water so generously provided by Delta/Northwest, sucking the ice cubes for every last drop of moisture. And through it all I was mad, because I had grandly envisioned arriving home in the mid-afternoon, reacquainting myself with the husband and pets, and sitting down with a mug of hot chocolate to begin writing.
Creative thesis writing.
Deadline looming, under-the-gun writing.
The slow panic I felt leaving Maine, where I scribbled mad to-do lists and began a mental time budget, rose to the level of hysteria thirty thousand miles over Nebraska. I hid it well – cycling between Dexter and 30 Rock on the mini-screen in front of me, but words were racing through my mind, too fast to form into sentences. Breathe, I ordered myself.
But now I’m home, ready to open the file.
And I’m remembering my favorite Michelangelo quote, the words he said to his apprentice: Draw, Antonio; draw, Antonio; draw and do not waste time.