The world drops twenty thousand feet from under my feet as my soul soars higher still. Euphoric, my mind reels at how brilliantly this day has become, punctuated by the kindest of, not goodbye, but "until we meet again".

The day kicked off unlike so many other days, when I finally awoke, I was at first mildly amused that I had slept in a little. That was nice, but quickly replaced by the Not-a-Morning-Person mantra: Oshitoshitoshitoshitoshit. By the time the day got into full swing, I was back on track, seemingly not having missed a beat.

Now, it had occurred to me at some point this morning that I was flying out of the country later today, and I had at least received my e-ticket this morning (yes, only got it just before lunch). I even had it printed off, and scanned over the times – just after 6 pm, I would be streaming vapour trails westward towards a cold beer and crisp, clean sheets. At least, so I thought. Time to leave the office, I took my time greeting everyone, and even took extra care ensuring that I had handled every eventuality to my counterpart. Quick glance, double check the time. Two or more hours before I need to be at the airport, I'll stop by the "old-office", grab my printer, head home, cup of coffee while I print off all I'm going to need for the next couple of days, leisurely drive to the airport and finish the day off being scrutinised for leaving the country. I had it all so carefully planned, finely figured out, and so completely wrong. In the car, traffic backed up, I flip through my notes one last time, yip, everything's covered, quick (last) check that I have my ticket and then sit back and…

"Oshitoshitoshitoshit!"

How had I missed that 6PM was my arrival time? That means… I'm off by about 5 hours!

"Okay," I tell the driver, "now I need you to drive!" And, man-alive, does this otherwise benign member of the team come alive. "Get me to the house, two minutes then we leave for the airport. I should have been there by now!", all translates.

I rush in. Quick. Check. BlackBerry. Wallet. Extra pair of Levi's. Couple of shirts. Don't forget the tooth brush. Shit! What about my passport? Got it. What else? Mmm, breath? Okay. Choke down a smoke, roll your neck, relax your shoulders. You're going to be alright. Say goodbye and take the time that will not tick, and do another trick: stretch it out a little longer. All I need now is enough of it to get me to the airport.

Go! Go! Go! Through the traffic. Security is fluid, but the cars have backed up beyond the gate. On foot I move more swiftly, cutting through the wind I make it through the parking and into the terminal.

What's this? As I get to the back of the customs check, I get pulled to the front – they've opened a forth lane and promptly ushered me from the very back right to the front. Through the scan, off to check-in and I don't see my airline's logo over any of the counters. "What's that? Oh, yes," one of the locals tells me, "They are still checking-in. Over there," and he points at a counter, devoid of life save for the dead-board attendant slumped, barely visible, on the other side. Passport. Ticket. Bags? No? Okay, I'm off to passport control. Strange, people milling about, no more or less than any other day, but the scene at the passport control is remarkably similar to the check-in counter. Through I go, with only a (slightly well natured) warning that my visa may not be valid if I return with another like it. How much time have I got left? I can't tell, my watch is in my bag, and the one I have will only ever be correct twice a day. Last couple of hurdles left then. Scan. Shoes off. And, what? The scanner goes down and needs to be reset… Yes, that's my bag and shoes in there, Your Honour. The officials make it a point of making the reset a memorable and officiated occasion which we, the mere mortal public, have been graced with the privilege of observing. Couldn't have taken more than a couple or three minutes, sure felt like a lot longer though. Through we go, and OH! MY! GOD! It's really only been no more than 25 minutes since I left the house! One last check just in case someone got this far without their passport, and as I get to the guy, he turns and walks away, content that he has checked his quota for the day, and I am free to take my seat.

Music goes on, I know someone will come tell me to turn it off before we take off, yet I'm un-surprised when it doesn't happen. When I'm gone, not by Creed, but rather 3 Doors Down echo my sentiment, as my body is thrust skyward to where my head has been and my feet have walked all day.

Now, typing this on my BlackBerry, my thumbs ache pleasantly as the plane descends through the hazy heat, back into city life and another adventure.

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