I feel weird at airports.

I'm pretty sure they (whoever "they" are) intentionally design airports to make a person feel off-kilter.

With windows down in the soft desert sunrise, I let the warm breath of dawn flutter across my skin on the drive to the Last Vegas airport. Palm tree fronds flutter against the blue sky. After a good night's rest of about nine actual hours, I feel in top form. Well...as "top form" as a 50-something year-old woman can feel. I know I can do better on my health. More vegetables. Always more vegetables. My grandpa Vic used to say, "Eat five pieces of produce a day." He was a naturepath, so he knew. I just don't remember if you're supposed to eat five different types of produce or if five apricots meet the requirement.

After parking, I spend some time organizing my vehicle. I've got a plastic jug of water. I know they say some plastics won't leach into your drinking water, but I don't believe it fully...especially in the hot Nevada sun and temps in the low teens. The van's interior will be an oven. When the plastic heats, the chemical in plastic might be more susceptible to releasing plastic particles, ions, molecules, and things. I'm talking on the atomic level. So, I take what remains in the jug and dump it into Buena's water bowl. (Buena is with Brenda while I travel.) I fill the water bowl until it's about to spill over. I want to see how much water evaporates inside the hot car while I'm gone these four days.

Dragging the wheeled luggage behind me, I take the long way into the airport. Who am I kidding? When you're parked in economy, it will be a long walk. Except this morning was a little longer because the Last Vegas airport installed a fence on the little rocky drainage ditch I used to cross...the short cut. This morning, I had to go inside the parking garage and take the walkway to the terminal.

That was where feeling like a healthy, happy human ended.

The signs at the TSA line confused me. They have special lines for first-class passengers, for ADA, and for international. Each line has a sign. Where's the sign for just regular passengers? I don't fit into any of those categories. I had to ask. They directed me to an unmarked line.

Then, they herd people like cows. Keep moving. Stand here. Fill in every empty space. And the floors! We've got to take off our shoes and put our feet on those dirty floors. All I can think about are diseased feet leaving molecules of disease in the carpet fibers.

So I stand on my tiptoes to minimize carpet space on which I stand. After collecting my shoes and luggage, I hurry to the bathroom to wash my feet by standing on one leg at a time to wash my feet. As I put on each shoe after washing each foot, I feel compelled to say something about the dirty floors at TSA to the lady washing her hands at the other sink.

With two hours before I have to be at the gate, I wander. I've got all of Concourse E. Where to?

I look to the distance in each direction. One way is grey and filled with artificial light. In the other direction, golden sunlight is bound in a defined space. Still.... it's sunlight, so I head toward the light.

There aren't people milling around at this far east end of the concourse, so I have a moment to pause and look at the architecture and design. Everything is stainless steel and black... except the carpet. It is designed to be disconcerting. Look at how the shadow, light, and pattern converge in disarray.

Soon, a maintenance person shows up with a broom and a barrel on wheels and starts brooming the floor. His steady sweeps punctuate the non-descript dance music filling the space.

As he sweeps, I start working on this blog post.

Suddenly, I feel another presence in the space and hear a tap or a click. I look up and see a tall guy in a yellow vest about 20 feet from me, hurrying away and behind me while looking intently at his phone.

There's nothing in this little corner of the airport. That's why I decided to sit here, wait, and try to regain a sense of calm before boarding my flight back to St. Louis.