I can't describe how exquisite I felt when the goodbye came. I held my large green satchel in my hand, an umbrella precariously balanced between the straps, ready to throw one arm around one of my best friends.

We stood there, holding each other for a small while that seemed longer than it actually was. I dropped my satchel to the side so I could embrace her with both arms.

I can't describe what love put into action does to my heart, nor to my mind. 'Beauty' comes close, but it has that special quality when you wake up, though you're already awake, and feel something is wonderfully different.

After we parted, I went into the airport, got my e-ticket, and attempted to scrounge the airport for available food.

Here's a tip if you're ever at the airport in Portland: forget about a restaurant, just go for the assorted nuts and snack stand being tended by a questionably polite South African. He'll hook you up right quick.

The plane ride was decent enough, got some reading done in my latest fantasy/political intrigue novel.

As the plane descended, I began to dread existence in general. You see, I have a very odd nasal condition: I practically have no sense of smell, at all. Why is that? For some reason unbeknownst to me, my nostrils are almost always blocked in some odd way. I can count the times on my fingers since childhood that I've been able to breathe clearly through my nose.

What does this translate to besides a preponderence toward eating spicy, strong-flavored food and contradictorily prefering subtle fragrances? I'll tell you:

pressure differentials are a bitch.

It only happens on planes, but no amount of ear-popping or temple-rubbing relieves the knives stabbing into every nerve of my face. Think of the sensation of having a bloody nose combined with the strange sensation that half of your brain is not only on fire, but is ready to explode out of your skull.

This time was different. I decided to imitate those "easy-breath strip" commercials and open up my nasal passages by pushing both sides of the bridge of my nose apart with my thumb and forefinger. Combined with trying to read my book, I looked incredibly silly.

So I've landed, I've eaten mexican food, and the book awaits me this evening morn.

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On a strange side-note, I've been experimenting with putting myself into different mind perspectives. Dreamy thoughtfulness, rage, all sorts of varying types that I want to focus on and use when my writing or life calls for their use. It's a bit supra-rational, maybe, but I wanted to see how much control I could exert over myself while willing me to be different.

So far the results are quite good. I have an overlying mood with this meta-mood functioning below and alongside it. Maybe I am getting better control of my mind than I thought.

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