'Time is not a line but a dimension, like the dimensions of space. If you can bend space you can bend time also, and if you knew enough and could move faster than light you could travel backward in time and exist in two places at once.'
- Margaret Atwood

I have been to the airport twice today. The first time as the sun was rising and the second with heavy drops of rain washing over the glass of my windscreen, the world rushing by dim and dreamlike. Airports are a strange no-man's land, a place of bent time and space. There is something affirming about them, change, I suppose. I associate them with a shift, a shift that lends itself to new horizons. The best stimulation is to experience a new environment, when you're taking it all in at a hundred miles an hour everything gains speed and lustre. It's peculiar that we remember the past and not the future. I'm glad that it is this way. The future retains its mystery, spontaneity, danger, risk - like driving fast in the rain, even if you slam on the breaks you're still going to drift across the asphalt without control. It's that loss of control that makes you feel anxious and you channel that anxiety into a pseudo high. High from not knowing what's round the next bend, and not caring so long as it's unpredictable and new and it keeps you drifting.