I flew back to Montreal yesterday. I am not fond of flying, to be honest. I'm not scared, and I do understand and appreciate the efficiency of air travel, but it ruins my body for an entire day. My skin breaks out, my hair goes limp and my body will be swollen all day. And you just sit there, in my case, for 4 hours, upright, next to strangers who, in my case, were unabashedly farting the entire way.
However, parts of the flight were really beautiful. The ground was dark brown, spotted with cream from the snow, and the sun made the outsides of the lakes shine gold and the snow gleam champaign.
But, with all this beauty, my last fleeting thought as we passed over Montreal upon landing (after, of course, trying to find my house - does everyone else do this?) was this weird musing about duplexes. It doesn't even make sense.
I am not Jack Kerouac.
Classes tomorrow. Bring on a new semester.
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