(Note: Events posted here, and throughout the upcoming journal, are posted at least one day behind actually occurring. Consider it bloggy jetlag.)

The things I do to be pretty for you, Scotland. Yesterday, in preparation for my journey, I swabbed out my ears. You wanted to know this, right? My ears generate too much wax, as if gearing up to terraform a moon. I get them professionally cleaned every few months, and the professional ear cleaners always stress that I should not use cotton swabs, as they just push the wax in further. Fie, I say! Only the best for Scotland, land of butter.

We came to New York last night for today’s afternoon flight from JFK. A quick brunch with friends before we go: we shall insist upon calling it dinner so as to anticipate the time change. French toast for dinner. Rob’s cocktail is a mimosa.

United Airlines, I am not so thrilled with the way you carry people into the sky and have thus secured pills that will lessen your terrifying hold over me. I hope they’re strong enough. I hope they will prevent any undue panic even if I should suddenly find myself at the bottom of the ocean, or headed rapidly in that direction.

Pills, I swallow you now. Goodbye, New York. Goodbye Baltimore. Where I go, you cannot follow. I refer not to the drug-induced haze, where I rather suspect I’ve got nothing on you, but the wild blue yonder, blackened and made more treacherous by the night.