Navigating in a Long-Distance Affair.

THAT there were 1,200 miles and several states between us meant constant motion: planes, taxis, buses, trams. And a lot of sitting around waiting -- in airports, for cabs, for one of us to pick up the other. Over time, the states between us grew emotional as well as physical: not only Tennessee and Arkansas but also anxiety, longing and anger at cancellations or delays and irritation at those who haunt airport gates all over America yelling into their cellphones (''We're here!'' or ''I had Quiznos for lunch!'') Or worse, detailing the specifics of their vocation, which, sadly, is never sex therapist. [ABSTRACT FROM AUTHOR]