Yesterday was a travel day. Sarah and I have found that it’s better, when you’re traveling, to consider any day when you have a flight as a day when nothing else gets done. That day is just for travel. Don’t try to meet anybody, don’t go see any sights, don’t go eat at any particular restaurants. Just pack and get where you’re going. The temptation is to cram as much activity into a trip as you possibly can, but there is no more sure-fire way to fuck up your itinerary’s hard deadlines than to try to do something immediately before or after a flight.

Plus, we’re both worriers and find the simplicity of having only one-thing-to-do-that-day comforting. Besides, sometimes a relatively simple trip can take up a surprising amount of time.

We left Sarah’s mom’s place at about 10:30 a.m., heading for the airport in Bozeman. We stopped to have lunch and to visit a dry goods store called Murdoch’s (not my idea — this was supposed to be a travel day, but Sarah’s mom needed, swear to god, cat treats). We arrived at the airport at 1:00 p.m. for our 3:00 o’clock flight, made it through security, and then hung out at our terminal. I read The Butcher’s Masquerade and listened to Talking Head’s Fear of Music, which has 11 tracks and came out in 1979.

I don’t mind airports the way a lot of people do. They’re expensive and crowded and the chairs should really be more comfortable considering sitting down is like the only thing everyone DOES at airports, but I enjoy having a moment to relax on an otherwise hectic trip.

I paused while listening to Fear of Music to talk to Sarah about the Talking Heads.

”I’m not trying to be confrontational here or anything, but what do people see in this band? Is it the satire? The comedy? Because I’m listening to their third record and … I don’t like the singing, I don’t like the lyrics, I don’t like the drums, I don’t like the guitar, and the production value isn’t spectacular. The whole first song is nothing but a bunch of white guys doing a we-just-discovered-African-music. The bass is good on a lot of songs, but the bassist is a one-trick pony when it comes to tone.”

Sarah oftentimes thinks I’m looking for an argument when I talk about books or music or movies — it can seem like I’m challenging her to defend a band that she’s not particularly nuts about, when really I’m just trying to voice questions that I’m asking myself. “You don’t have to listen to them,” she said. For her, music isn’t supposed to be a struggle. It’s supposed to be something you enjoy. If you’re not having fun, then why bother? Stop listening to it.

I don’t really have an answer to that question, other than I think it’s important to try things you don’t like. Especially in the realm of art. Art is there to challenge us, after all, and some of my favorite musicians are acts that I didn’t like at first but only came to enjoy after repeated listenings. Maybe I’ll wind up liking the Talking Heads — who knows?

Our flight took off at 3:00 p.m. Our seats were surrounded by stinky, invasive children. We landed at SeaTac at 4:00, having gained an hour in the air. We quickly deplaned and made our way to the light rail system, which brought us north to Lynnwood, where Sarah’s dad picked us up. It was about a 90-minute subway ride. After a quick dinner at the marina, we loaded up the boat and made our way to the island my wife grew up on. A 30-minute boat ride through smoke and choppy waves.

I listened to the audio of The Butcher’s Masquerade as we traveled and made a lot of progress before we finally arrived at our destination at around 8:00 p.m. Just like that, our trip, which mostly consisted of a 2-hour flight, managed to take up nearly 10 hours.

You can see why it’s better not to cram in activities on a travel day.

It is beautiful out here. Dark at night, and very quiet. It’s easy to get lost in your own thoughts.

I dreamed of a purple pillow that screamed at me. It was a large, square throw pillow with a face, and it had been screaming for a while. I went up to it and said, “I’ve had enough of your goddamned screaming, purple pillow. Enjoy being face-down.” Then I put the pillow down on its face and left it there, knowing it didn’t have the ability to right itself.