Just Flew In
From Fort Myers, and man my arms are tired. The next stuff I wrote on the plane.
Random wacky go nutty thoughts whilst taking off just moments ago. X
Sports for bloggers. The immediate one that comes to mind is the
take-off and landing ‘blog.’ You’d have to be well away from the flight
attendant’s take-off perch, probably near the window, and a pretty good
touch typist, as you would have to keep an eye out for the fuzz. Points
would be given for non-discovery, if discovered-blogging past
discovery, detainment by federal agents upon landing, as well as points
for style, current event status (checking CNN before boarding would be a
good trick, which means you’d have to find an airport with those little
TV’s), and number of correctly spelled words. This being an X Sport, no
spell-check would be allowed.
I had troubling dreams last night, although I have no idea what they
were about. I just know that I woke up a few times, troubled. After
going for well over two years without even being aware of my dreams,
lately I’ve even been remembering them, or as in this morning’s case, at
least aware that I was dreaming. Of course, from a Jungian view, this
means that I’ve got something I want to tell me. There’s something
that’s troubling me. I wonder if it has anything to do with that woman
what birthed me, and the fact that I now realize that she is crazy.
Maybe I’m crazy. [In best Austrian accent] “So you hate your Mother.”
That would qualify as troubling.
Oh, and one more thing, flying really sucks, especially in coach. I am
not a large person, I’m 5-8, 170, but I am scrunched up, barely able to
read the screen. The attendants are nice enough, but they seem to come
wizzing past every 2.5 minutes to ask what the hell I want. Maybe I
should be happy for the attention (one of them looks like Anna
Kournakova’s big sister), but they’re bugging me. I have dropped two
trains of thought so far, (hey, they could have been something
interesting) responding to one or another inquiry. Mind you, we’ve been
served a “snack” and a drink. That’s it. Not a seven-course meal. And
we’ve still got an hour to go. The laptop is sitting kitty-korner on my
lap, my left wrist is in such an awkward position that it is sore, and
there is a shooting pain running up the right side of my back. What I do
for you my gentle reader.
