I'm on my way to the airport - it's 5:30 am, and I can see dawn breaking over the Toronto skyline. It's beautiful in a way I don't know how to commit to words. I feel a little bit teary in the limo taxi my mother has ordered, my bare legs on smooth leather, all my bags beside me. It's a calm ride - I don't even pull out my iPod to listen to any music. I had a feeling I'd let those tears slip if I was. There's only so much I can handle in one go, emotionally. I just watch the cityscape run by. I love my hometown. Love it. There's a dirty and wonderful something to it that I think that people take for granted when they remain within the city. But for me, the girl that has both left, and returned, there's a tug at the heartstrings that remains unmistakeable. The flight itself is non-descript. I was cold for a lot of it - they now charge for blankets on Air Canada flights, and I think it's a shame. I couldn't sleep well last night out of excitement, so I slept then, catching precious few hours and waking up with a throat made scratchy by recycled air. Vancouver is flat... gray. I'm a little disappointed by this, because it's actually cold as well, making my hometown seem that much more elated in its predicted 38 degree hell that it plans to be today.
So here I am, on the bus while I wait to go across into the United States. I wonder what the boarder will be like. I've heard so many horror stories, but my previous experiences while on my way to New York were rather anti-climatic, and I pray for the same here. I think I like J's city because it's so... reminiscent of Canada, despite being in the States. The trees, unending stretches of it, remind me of those long drives to the cottage. One more hour! I can't wait.
