In the olden days, I would be writing this from the hermetically sealed splendor of some airline club, financed by the promise of future revenue or at the very least, the generous salary my employer imparted unto me. Now that I am a small businessman getting my enterprise off the ground, such expenses are unwise, and so I find myself one hour before boarding sitting in a sparsely filled gate lounge awaiting my flight. I would like to think that the small crowd is a promise of a half full flight, but I cannot allow myself that dream.
I am certain to disappoint some, as my tracksuit sits folded in my carry on whilst I sport relatively normal travel togs, including a tweedy jacket, a long sleeve crewnweck brown tshirt, blue jeans and loafers. I think my decision to eschew the fat tennis player rig flows from the spring in my step enabled by having lost some weight. I feel less slovenly, so I dress less slovenly.
On the way to the airport, I stopped at the Reston Town Center to break bread with an old shipmate. It was a delight to see him, and I remain amused by the interesting life he leads. As if on cue, when I got to the bar, he was chatting up a 9.2 and her friend, an old flame, it turns out. Ahhhh....
My flight leaves at ten pm, and I expect to be asleep by 1130. I figure with ear plugs and a mask, I can bag six hours and wake refreshed for breakfast. I will not destroy my diet on this trip, and I expect to make liberal use of the hotel gym. I finished writing my presentation this morning, but I have a revision or two to look at. The good news is that I don't give it until Thursday.
Forty-five minutes to boarding, and there are fewer than forty people here...keep your fingers crossed!
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