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February 22, 2007
I wake to a storm: thunder, lightning, the works. As I drearily, blearily head for the coffeemaker, I consider the possible effects these sound and lighting effects will have on my flight later that morning. I consider calling my boss and telling him, cowardly, that I canít go; the flightís been cancelled. But I know I have to go, or at least try to. After I finally flag a taxi (calling one was an exercise in futility and frustration), we drive almost as slowly as I could walk to the dreaded airport. But eventually I arrive, and eventually, I leave.