Your initial warning here is that this was written a few weeks ago while sitting on an airplane. I had been on said flight for about 3 hrs and was starting to feel stir crazy and a little air sick and so decided to write:
I’m so unreasonably bored right now. We’ve been in the air for over three hours now and I’ve run out of places for my mind to wander. The Primary topic has been air travel in general.
I realized that last time I made this very same flight, I left normal life for five months. This time it’s not nearly so dramatic. A week of vacationing seems like nothing compared to then.
The plane is shaking now and my handwriting is getting worse. I realized this will not translate well to a word processed blog bit it should be noted for posterities sake.
Until now, things have been relatively uneventful. I had my normal take off jitters that luckily don’t manifest as much more than a thick lump in my throat and queasiness in my stomach.
My mind went thru chaos theories a plenty and strangely I’m materialistic enough that the majority of them involved faulty hatches opening and all the checked baggage spewing across Northern Texas. I’m not sure if we even flew over Northern Texas, but all the same I saw my blue rolling luggage hurtling through the sky and touching down in a giant self made crater on someone’s farm. Do the have farms in Northern Texas? I really need to find a fact checker for my disillusioned daydreams. Say, “Disillusioned Daydreams” would make and awesome band name.
But with regards to flying, it really doesn’t bug me all that much after take off. This time we’re in first class because, I don’t know, my dad had some super duper “you spend more time in the sky than on the ground” points and could upgrade us. They’re so attentive and actually friendly up here, though they still look at me like I’m twelve and ignore me more than others. Or I’m paranoid. Or maybe I just don’t notice the hospitality because I’m lost in my fantasies of Northern Texas.
The clouds outside the window are the stuff of clichés. Sporadic and popcorn like growing into colossal albino cityscapes. Being up here, I always want to jump from the plane and touch them. I think this is unwise, however, as falling to my doom does not sound like an enjoyable experience. I do wonder, when I landed, besides getting brains and bodily organs all over the scenery, if I would leave a cartoon like crater the shape of my body in the ground. That same Northern Texas farmer who found my fallen luggage would say “Why is there a girl shaped crater in my corn field.” Do they have corn fields in my made up farms of Northern Texas?
Anyway, sadly, I cannot touch the clouds as I cannot fly. As the saying goes “If we were meant to fly, we would have been born with tiny bags of nuts.” Words to live by.
I think the most confusing thing on a plane has to be the bathrooms. A place so small, I don’t want to know how the mile high club was even conceived. And why is there and electric outlet in there? Will I need to dry my hair while the plane jostles through turbulence or will some guy need to use an electric razor? I think the latter would be more dangerous. I’m barely allowed to use electronic devices in the cabin. Wouldn’t these bathroom devices knock the plane right out of the sky. I’m also confused by the hanger hook in there. Is it so I can stow my cloths for a quick change later in a super small room. My knees are up to my chest when I sit down… Apparently this is now a stand up routine.
We’re nearly in Florida and I’m fairly excited though baggage claim promises to be a bitch. At least this time I don’t have an eighty pound bag to pick up (true story). Hopefully, my bags on the belt and not in a crater in a cornfield somewhere in Northern Texas.
And Scene
~S
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