If It's Tuesday Then It Must Be Jet-Lag

Christ, I hate travel. I hate my fellow humans WHILE traveling. I have no cause to complain about the voyage home. Except for the occasional delay from ignorant or brusque fellow humans---you know the type---the ones you have to muster extra reserves of patience for---everything went very smoothly and on time. I even got another seat in executive class. I just HATE being in transit anymore. Impatience wells up and I have to push it aside. I internalize it. I don't open up to anyone because I feel that most people are bland, conventional, and easily-led sheep MOST of the time, never mind during travel. And most people are self-absorbed anyway. So I keep to myself...and become part of the problem. In regards to Scotland, I DID enjoy my time there. But the magic is gone, I think. Kenny's a good friend but I don't think it's worth hopping an ocean and a channel to put in personal appearances or explore the land. The sense of wonder has been rubbed out of me by age, travel-burnout, and jaded cynicism... Maintaining my part in the empty facade of society and custom seems to become more difficult. Something's dying inside. Unrealized potential is rotting on the vine. When do I start to care again? If ever?