I fear for the future. I have become one of those people in airports who start conversations with strangers who are obviously uninterested in the exchange. I hate those people. I do not mind the occasional small talk, but if I am clearly trying to read or work on my computer, my policy is: do not bother me. Stay outside the bubble.

I was on my layover in Chicago, and my flight was cancelled, and I was flying standby for the next flight, and a woman asked me to watch her bag while she got coffee, which I did. And when she came back, I just began speaking to her. I suppose I was nervous about getting a seat on the plane because I have never flown standby before and there were a lot of cancelled flights (hence a lot of people trying to get on that plane). But that is no excuse. She was trying to read her USA Today and I just kept blabbing on and on. I wanted to hang myself by my laptop cord, but I could not stop because I was afraid she would then think I was rude for stopping in mid-conversation to read my own book, even though it was evident that neither of us wanted to continue. We both heaved sighs of secret relief as boarding began (I got a seat), and we bid each other farewell. Later, at Laguardia, we pretended not to see each other at the luggage claim. It was better that way.

So now I am home for less than ten hours. In the morning, I will retrieve my rental car and head off on my trip with Rob and Goblin. I may try to answer some email tonight, as quite a few have piled up in my absence, but do not feel slighted if you have sent me something and have yet to hear back.

On our trip, Rob and I will rendezvous with his sister Rindy in Milwaukee. He spoke to her yesterday, and she said she has been tracking our progress through this very blog. For some reason, I am reminded of the short story by Stephen King, in which a writer buys a painting of a demon at a yard sale. The demon is driving a hot rod. As the writer goes on with his life, he sees that the image in the painting is changing, that the scenery depicted is familiar, and (judging by the car's changing surroundings) that the demon is getting closer and closer to where he is. In the last scene, the writer sees that the creature has parked its hot rod outside his house and is on its way up the stairs to devour him.

So, Rindy, imagine your brother, his boyfriend, and an enthusiastic (if not especially demonic) dog named Goblin getting closer and closer to where you are. You may monitor the journey of our hot rod (a.k.a. Volkswagen Golf) in this blog, and check back when you hear the pitter patter of little paws on the stairs.