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DREAM: Making a Chinese food delivery in an oversized mall. I had parked my car just outside, key left inside and door unlocked like I usually do, because usually the delivery transaction takes no more than a minute. But I should’ve known something would go wrong. As I’m exiting the building I discover the worse case scenario. The car is gone. My keys. My cell phone. Book bag. All gone. Security officers walk by and I inform them, “I’d like to report a stolen car please!” The man mutters something into his walkie-talkie and continues about his business. Later, my boss Cecily finds me and comments on my new haircut, “Your hair’s never looked so good.”
Alarm goes off at 11:30 a.m. Continuing to wallow in the bed sheets next to her, pressed against her warm bare back.
Oatmeal with Flax Seed, Brown Sugar, Raisins, and Milk. Orange Juice. Zinc (50 mcg).
While I’m roaming around getting ready to leave I walk by the bed and she’s awake.
She tells me in her classic baby voice, “I roll over and I wake up and you’re not there.”
Me: “That’s such a sad story.”
...
She leaves. I practice more piano—getting more comfortable with these melodies and trills.
Off to the airport. I’m unnaturally early. Zach is sitting by himself. I recline next to him and ask one question that produces at least a 30 minutes discussion, “What do you feel like you’re losing?” And I meant of course as we age...what are we losing? Desire for change. Zest for adolescent causes to change the world. Getting acquainted with a certain kind of acceptance on the mechanics of society. There is one vital factor that keeps the both of us leery of romantic freedom: knowing there is never a perfect match. We don’t want to be left alone in this existential conflict. Being attached to another is sometimes difficult when bombarded with so much public sensory stimulation as these attractive people surround us at the airport...
Zach phrases it as “a constant assault on the senses.” Exactly.
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Jacob and Mark arrive.
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Half a Turkey Swiss Sandwich from Starbucks. Potato Chip Trio. Pomegranate Cherry Ade. Pear.
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On the plane I get the window seat. Entertaining myself by browsing the ridiculous products in Sky Mall magazine. The beautiful imagery in the sky as we soar through the band of popcorn clouds. Engaging in a similarly themed conversation with Mark as I did with Zach on the conflicts of an up and coming 30 year old—settling down, focusing on adulthood and being comfortable becomes priority.
This flight is short-lived. Mark is full of energy and excitement to be on this trip, which is going to be a break from the norm for all of us, but this drill is all too familiar: hurry up and wait. That’s what traveling entails most of the time...leaving you with plenty of time to idle your mind.
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Coffee with Cream and Sugar. Mini bag of Peanuts.
We arrive in Atlanta and to our dismay it’s at least a three and a half hour layover here. Welcome to airport life. People watching is my favorite pastime as an airport resident. Even as I attempt to read The Bell Jar I’m distracted by all the movement across the concourse. So many different people of varying types. The families. The loners. The pretty faces. The business men.
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Settling for a personal pan Cheese Pizza from Pizza Hut and a Honey Crisp Apple to fill my hunger.
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Later in another concourse we discover the classier side of the ATL. A pianist pumping out soft classical melodies on a baby grand in the middle of the food court. Mark and Zach retreat to the bar close by. Snacking on a Bavarian Crème Doughnut with Coffee. I look out across the vast cafeteria at the persons sitting by themselves, one of them being a fairly good-looking 30-year old woman directly in front of me eating a piece of carrot cake and drinking bottled water. She doesn’t have a book nor have company to share words with. But she sits there anyway doing nothing, gazing in front of her, sorting through images and ideas in her head. I could just get up from my stool, offer to sit with her, introduce myself, and strike up a conversation. But I don’t. I do exactly what everyone expects from strangers: stay in your personal bubble.
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The layover drag went by faster than expected. The whole cabin is forced to watch this infomercial on the safety rules and regulations of the flight. The video features high quality camera work and an attractive female flight attendant lecturing us on all the do’s and don’ts. I'm especially enamored with her luscious red lips. A constant assault on the senses.
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We’re served a compact and nutritious airline dinner. I choose the Pasta, which comes with a small Salad, a Roll, and a mini Blondie Cookie. A cup of Chardonnay suits the meal well.
Soaring at 33,000 feet in the midnight sky at 670 mph. There’s something beautiful and poetic about being up here...
Reading this graphic novel I found in the house called Transmetropolitan: Back On the Street. Angry and comical and visually intriguing. Set in a not-so-distant cyber future in a big city where an alien/human hybrid race fights for equal rights—involving an edgy and upset anti-hero journalist named Spider Jerusalem who stops at nothing to get stories. A surprisingly good read.
Catching some sit-up shut eye...
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