I’m writing this from Ben Gurion airport, where I’m waiting for my flight back to Istanbul. I’ve just had a remarkably, I mean remarkably long conversation with the airport security officials.
I can’t at all blame them for wondering. I look like something the cat dragged in (it’s been a busy week, no time for laundry), I’ve got some weird story about being a freelance journalist who lives in Turkey because she’s adopted a lot of stray animals, and I’m telling them I’ve been here checking out Hezbollah installments on the Lebanese border. If that doesn’t add up to secondary questioning, it’s kind of hard to imagine what would.
It was a lot less expensive than psychotherapy, and after a while I really got into it. I’d really never thought that much about my whole life story before. If they’d offered me a couch and another hour, I’m sure I would have achieved significant insight.