In which she discusses her past-present-future on Friday, May 22nd, 2009.

Currently I stand in the airport, where DCD imagined I would be. He said, “I picture you waiting in the terminal reading a magazine, maybe surrounded by family.” I imagined him sucking a cigarette in the corner of a press room, drumming his fingers against a sheaf of papers. So I guess I imagined where he was, and he imagined where I am: here.

When I enter the security line I am told to remove my flats. I stand five foot seven in socks, no wider than the security guard’s thigh. Our heads are the same size. Three nights from now DCD will tell me his head is bigger than mine, but I will disagree. His hair is bigger width-wise, mine is bigger depth-wise.

Standing in socks in the airport is degrading. No more degradation than I fed myself two Christmases ago. I went to the bar across from gate four, twenty feet from where I stand. I ordered a double gin and tonic. I spilled the glass and I spilled the bowl of nuts, timber-timber, one after another. I asked the bartender for a napkin. I gulped twice, I swiped twice and the deed was done. The party was either over or just starting, but who knows these things in the moment?

I wish Dave Jones were here with me now. We could be watched by the people watchers. I am sitting cross-legged in front of the gate four window. I stare at the tarmac and I yearn for asphalt. I would like Dave Jones to hold my hand as we walk to the grass stripe cleaving the concrete. I would look in his eyes and see planes fly out of his ears. Maybe he could press his ear to my chest and listen to my heart beat and pound and ring and jump.

I review my past and future in light of this feeling. "You are ignorant of what you do," I say - letting the words find places in my mouth.