Time...

....seems to go slower when you are at the airport, waiting to get home. At any other time, there never seems to be enough of it to get even half of your list done. When you need it, it is as elusive as a Greenpeace sticker on a BMW. Here at the airport, however, as you make your way home, it seems as though you could build a half-scale model of the Sears Tower with toothpicks in the time available. With the travel schedule I follow, I know about how much time to allow getting to the airport, getting my ticket, plodding through security, and making my way to the terminal. I try to allow just enough time to take into account any unexpected occurrences, but not so much as to get to know the gate surroundings very well.

Even with these precautions, each minute here seems to stretch an eternity. I understand most of it is my impatience to get home, but I have a theory. The doors to the terminal are actually rips in the space-time continuum, and you enter a 5th dimension of time, where small children stare at you from the next table, 8 different accents make up a tapestry of background noise, and travelers, both frequent and casual, swim their way through a soupy reality where time exists in and of it's own.

3 hours from now, I'll be home.....and my bet is that I won't hear Mandarin Chinese spoken anywhere....