This is going to be one of those stream of consciousness posts. If you've come to enjoy my more philosophical or practical posts, I'm afraid I'm about to disappoint you. Actually, I think I'm not even supposed to apologize for what I'm about to write; that's definitely a rule. So I'm sorry for breaking that rule, as well. I guess every style of writing has its formal pro-forma introduction. In ye olden times it was a poem invoking the muse. In the blog post it's an apology. So there we are. The introduction is dispensed with and I can proceed to the main meander.
There is no convenient way to fly from San Francisco to the East Coast. You can fly out at a reasonable time in the morning, and because of the time difference, arrive late in the evening, having wasted the whole day. You can fly out unreasonably early in the morning, arrive inconveniently late in the day, and also, have wasted the whole day. Or, finally, you can fly out late in the evening and arrive in the morning. You don't waste the whole day but you arrive having at best napped a little bit on the airplane. You get to have the day, but it's kind of a crappy day. The last is the option I go for.
Some small pleasures compensate for the generally crappiness of the SFO --> BOS red-eye flight. You fly over Boston Harbor just as golden hour illuminates the islands and boats. The terminal, while crowded with holiday travelers, is similar lit by the morning sun. Before leaving the airport there is the, now traditional for me, Dunkin' Donuts donut and coffee. Theoretically they've expanded to the West Coast now, but for a long time it was a East Coast only treat and the ritual remains. And finally there's the ride out of Boston on the airport shuttle bus, seeing East Coast architecture again (so much brick!) in the morning light.
And that's it. The rest is just sleep deprivation and jet lag and trying to grind through until the next day by which point I hope to have brute force reset my sleep schedule to East Coast.