Actually, I prefer the never-ending day. The day when you take the long jet ride west, and it’s only a few hours later, in terms of clocks, when you arrive, than when you left — 7,000, 8,000, 9,000 miles ago.

But the lost day has something to be said about it, too. It’s a sort of contrapuntal concept. The eternal day is an aviation-aided immortality. The lost day is about getting on a plane, and time becomes even more compressed. An hour becomes 20 minutes. You hurtle Central Standard, Eastern Standard, Greenich Mean Time …  and think, “Wow, where did the time go?” Sorta like life.

So, the morning disappears, like all mornings disappear when you have an afternoon plane. You get up, putter for a moment, look around, and it’s time to go.

Clean up the room. Jam everything in the extra bag. Make a stop at the family biz to say goodbye to People Who Matter. Not much emotion. That’s how we are. “Take care of yourself.” Once, we heard, when leaving for a distant land: “Take care of each other.” I have never forgotten that. I never will. All you have is each other. The rest is stuff.

Etihad Airways flight 170. EY170, nonstop from LAX to Abu Dhabi. The mirror image of the eternal EY171 that brought us to Los Angeles only 12 days before.

Another facet of the mirror. The plane is late. Identical to the other end. Have I mentioned Etihad’s AUH-LAX-AUH routes have a horrible on-time record? I have.

This time around, no one is allowed to check bags. We stand around, in the check-in area of Bradley Terminal, for two hours. A United Nations of passengers, bound for … anywhere. And no one taking a step forward. Massive lines. Quiet acceptance of missed transfers. Slumping shoulders.

Company drones who are no doubt equally in the dark about this as we are, begin to tell small lies … which grow into whoppers. It starts with the woman saying, “the system is down; it will be 10 or 15 minutes.” Later, some guy with a tie is telling a passenger that it is about DHS — the Department of Homeland Security. (If I were in charge of tall tales told to airline passengers, I would always blame Homeland Security. It’s not like they are going to come out and set you straight.)

The thing about this Etihad flight? It’s always about something.

Plane skedded to leave at 3:50 p.m.  Etihad doggedly refuses to put up “delayed” on the electronic board. Other airlines don’t seem to mind telling the truth. But even after it would be physically impossible for all of us to walk straight to the gate and get on the plane, Etihad keeps up a sign that reads “expected departure”, or something like that.

Someone in line, a Persian, is telling anyone who will listen what a “terrible airline” Etihad is. “Watch. They will give you chickpeas and beans for lunch.” (Actually, not far off; chickpeas and potatoes.)

A cheer goes up. “The system” has come up. Or DHS has lifted a sanction. Or maybe the pilots finally showed up. The truth? We can’t handle the truth.

The guys at the counters shift into overdrive. They process 300-plus people in maybe a half hour. Fairly impressive.

We have time to buy two exorbitantly expensive tacos. We amble to the gate. The crowd forms. Maybe it’s not as big as it looked, out in front of the baggage check. Maybe it will have some space.

We all file on. Seems like half the plane is business/first class. We are in coach, which covers about one-third of the plane but seats about 60 percent of the passengers.

We have window-aisle near the rear of the plane, where it narrows from 3-4-3 to 2-4-2. We have one of the 2s. Thank goodness.

Unlike the flight to LAX, when we had enter groups of four seats to ourselves, this one is 98 percent full. I remember that I have something of a relationship with claustrophobia.

The passengers are … eclectic. Let’s just guess that a significant number of them do not appear to have any deep experience with plane rides. Or if they do, it is with airlines where chaos is how they roll.

People are swapping seats after the door is closed. Wandering the aisles as if they have a choice of lodging. Bags are dragged to and fro. No, there is no room in the overhead compartments that have been closed. The flight attendants just disppear. They are gone. Maybe they will come back when this is over, but not before.

After a half hour of chaos, we finally get most butts in chairs. I see one empty seat.

The plane lumbers into the air. It had to be within 100 pounds of overload. The inflight entertainment system bursts into life. It already is dark. The shades are pulled and will never open for the next 16 hours. A sleeping pill is taken. Home Alone is on the screen … and then … not.

Sleep. Blessed oblivion. When we wake, Friday, December 5 will have been a short and unpleasant memory. We sail into the night and through another day, and when we land in Abu Dhabi we have nearly missed Saturday entirely.

Where did that day go? Time took it. Took it back, after giving us the eternal day on the way out. No one gets a free ride.