(Recently, I flew to see my magical friends Vicki and Erin in Arizona. I wrote this bit on the way back.)
The service above the mountains is sketchy and there's dust on my laptop screen. A determined-looking Asian woman marches down the aisle with Isaac the flight attendant smiling amusedly behind her. Another Asian woman in velvet followed close behind.
This flight crew is intent upon having fun. The pilot reminds the passengers to, "Turn off their beloved cell-u-lar devices, that means iAnything and any and all sorts, sizes and colors of Berries." The flight attendants race to beat their time serving drinks and call me little miss. When I order Mother Parker's tea, Isaac asks whether a 'little sugar' is one packet or five. I can't help but grin.
I always feel that I must make great use of my time on airplanes, like it's a limited time for me to create a blueprint for my life and to lay out anxiety-riddled thoughts. Unable to begin either epic venture, I save an article about Ireland that Jak would like and compose a Tweet. I take pictures of the drapey wrinkled mountains below and wonder if these are the Rockies and bemoan my lack of geographical knowledge.
I feel a great sadness within me. I cannot languish long for fear of drowning. I tag it vaguely to giving up on writing fiction or maybe my vow to keep my jello-wobbly heart on track. I breath in and look out the window. Even though it makes it awkward to get to the lavatory, it is worth sitting by the window. The freedom of the clouds amazes me.
linking with imperfect prose
(Yes, I joined Twitter! Come find me - I'd love to read your tweets!)