Last night, my son Jake asked when we were leaving for the airport. “8:30,” I said. He asked, “What time’s your flight? Noon?” I admitted that yes, we were flying out at noon, and muttered a few defenses about international flight and checking in and making sure everything was squared away. He laughed at my anxieties.
At 4:17 this morning, I awoke. Doom-scrolling kept me in bed until 6:00, when I gave up on more sleep.
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