January 4, 2008
Boarding Delta Flight 177 to Atlanta, a miracle occurred: I was upgraded to first class. I could dance the tango in my personal space. I am already tipsy with free wine. My seatmate, Patrick Lambert, is an accountant from Miami, currently unemployed. He used to work for a beer company and always flew in private planes, and there were hors d’oeuvres and prostitutes. Rose late this morning for the first time in my adult life, two hours later than I had intended. Didn’t miss the flight, but I did miss the time languishing in lounges getting all weepy about life & Ireland & wandering, and maybe that is better. I have a wallet full of euros there was no time to change.
Sunset: Atlanta. When I left Dublin this morning, dawn was flamingo pink over the Liffey. Now sunset is red-gold over Atlanta. I am thinking of my cats. I am wondering if Larkin saw everything through. I am home in thought, though I have a layover of many hours here amid the scurrying and waiting. I have never been more tired. The urge to call my father is overwhelming, so I will.
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