1 hour ago · Life · 0 comments

In my travel & packing notes for next time, there is a line item — slightly above the assertions that “the eggs are usually gross” at hotel breakfasts, and “ferry WiFi is varely[sic] worth using” — that says: I rarely have time/energy to do as many things as I think. I travel a reasonable amount, and tend to feel overbooked leading up to a trip, and think, oh, I’ll have time for that on the drive/plane/train/ferry. So I stuff my backpack full of torn-out notebook sheets of things to finish, and then sit in a bleary-eyed torpor eating food of questionable quality and staring out the window, while the things I brought to work on get crumpled and food-strained, and prepare to silently judge me when I unpack upon arrival. I have often pondered: why does time traveling go by so quickly? Why are those long hours so often effectively a write-off? The obvious factors are obvious. When traveling, I tend to be tired, potentially nauseous, hot, sweaty, greasy, frequently-interrupted, dehydrated,…

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