100 degrees of separation

Walking out of Houston International Airport to catch a cab amidst a jacketless crowd, it occured to me that one week ago I was standing outside in Calgary, waiting for a cab, in temperatures 100 degrees (farenheit) colder. What a difference a week makes. Or time in general, for that matter. We have been so slammed at work for so long that my level of mental engagement in what I am doing at any given moment has become incredibly intense. The change from one moment to the next can feel so radical that it is hard to reconcile my perception the passage of time with reality. One minute I can be fixating on how precisely one line in a legal agreement should be worded to avert armageddon. The next minute I might be vividly experiencing the memory of drinking a beer with five of the world's best people at my side on Playa Bonita after four days of mountain biking through the Costa Rican jungle.

Excuse me now, while I travel back in time.