I’ve found my departure gate, at the end of the terminal. It’s pleasant here, very quiet and serene. This makes me more than a little self-conscious about the frequent sniffles that my histamine attacks bring on, and reminds me continuously that I am still living on the histamine threshold, the invisible and variable boundary water between “Normal/OK” and “Misery”. Much like my Asperger’s/autistic characteristic of black-and-whiteness, there’s little in-between on the histamine front, too.
This histamine stuff also brings into annoying awareness the realization that I did indeed forget something when I was packing for this trip: my posh, premium tissues. Kleenex–the tough, sturdy kind with the lotion built in. I have a pocket/purse-packet of the basic type, but that just won’t do. I know these things; I have a lot of experience.
It does not matter how thoroughly I pack, how short my trip is going to be, how…
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