I’m one bottle into two minis of red, (my dinner, thank you Iceland Air), listening to Bjork via ear buds, because: Iceland.
…Meanwhile, the quaintly circa 1965 pill-box-hatted-and-scarved stewardesses (Flight Staff? Attendants?) are trying to shill me duty-free jewelry.
…And I really have to pee. But I’m a window seat in a row of three. So am waiting for the guy on the aisle, (with two beers in him), to start the stampede.
…Goddamn, he can hold his beer.
…Don’t you have to pee yet, guy?! Beer makes *me* need to pee! *Instantly!* And often!
When I saw Aisle Guy get two beers and a water I was all, “FREAKIN SWEET! He’ll for *sure* have to pee soon…at *least* as much as I do (already before I decided to drink dinner.)”
…But, no.
…Enjoy that youthfull prostate, young guy. It only goes down from here.
Focus on distraction.
…Bjork.
…
…What *is* it?
…(Other than many cellos, synth, electric keyboards, and a small bird voice saying words that are English, but don’t really make actual sentences together?)
Meanwhile: finally got to see “Hitchcock. ” I like that it’s an Alma love -letter. That woman was the Eleanore Roosevelt of his career. It’s about damn *time* someone noticed…
…So, so, so distracted by bladder right now. It’s starting to hurt. But nice, silent, Nordic Knitting Woman beside me, makes me wary of making the first move.
….A silent letter, sent mentally to two seats over:
Dear Aisle Guy,
Remember those beers? And that bottle of water? No? Well I remember my pre-flight apple juice and dinner of Syrah.
GET THE FUCK UP.
With Gratitude,
~Window Seat Lush
***
(Later)
…Peeing is magnificent. Don’t ever take it for granted again.
***
(Even Later)
Have given up on Bjork. Maybe I’ll like their breakfast foods or foreign films…
…Am chillin now with my girl Adele, trying really hard not to belt along. It is more difficult than I thought it would be. Am thinking the words and making all the faces anyway.
Vacation is fun.
…Even in a hollow tube streaking a zillion miles per hour, by magic and science, (but mostly magic) across the sky.
…Speaking of that: my onboard consul tells me we are roughly half way to this place which is supposed to heavily resemble Mars (according to others who have been there…to Iceland, that is, not Mars… Though how the fuck they know enough about Mars topography to equate it, I’ll never know.)
…Because of flight mode, I have no idea what time it really is, or what time zone I’m in. I suspect (because I’m still rocking it over Canada,) I’m three hrs ahead… ish.
…Oh, Canada…
(Wonders where Cecil is, in her journey. Wonders if she drank dinner too. Wonders if anyone lost bets that I chose wine instead of the Johnny Walker Black option. *I* did. I *totally* owe me a whiskey on that loss. Later. Maybe for breakfast.)
(…I’m only a little bit kidding.)
***
(Later)
“When Harry Met Sally” because: (no reason besides, “it’s ‘When Harry Met Sally,'” will ever be needed in this life.)
**
(Even Later)
This scene:
**
(Later, later)
Whatever creation Nordic Knitting Woman is making next to me, requires a seven page booklet of number and letter charting, which she’s added math equations to…along with occasional liner notes, all of which are a mystery. Because of her mother tongue. And: math.
…Every row’s end, she stops, charts, flips pages, and writes more. With the length she currently working on – and given the tiny, tiny yarn thickness -she must have started this project about two years ago. Or maybe 20. And I can’t even tell what the hell it’s supposed to be, yet.
A scarf? An infant’s blanket? Dear God, I hope not the front part of a sweater. She’s already well into her sixties. She’ll never survive both arms.
**
(Later-ish)
WATER!!
Remember back when I had to piss like a racehorse? I peed so hard, I caused full Exodus of fluid from my entire body. I’ve been a living Sahara for like two hours now. But the lovely-beautiful-fantastical-retro-badass-ladies-who-take-care-of-us (like magical Stage Managers in the sky) just showed up with another cart.
I love you, Iceland Air.
And it’s a real love.
Not like with Delta.
**
(Later, still.)
Reached Iceland.
Close you eyes.
That is what I saw of it. Pitch black still past 6 am… They didn’t let us leave the inner concourse if traveling to UK, I was immediately put into a line (and then an all glass holding pen) with no bathrooms or way to get water… until about 20 mins later, when they opened another glass door, and we all pushed through the rain in blackness, on the tarmac, to get to our plane.
…And that’s what I saw of Iceland.
The end.
**
(Flight 2)
I smell. And a lot of people all around me do too. But not as much as the Axe Body Spray walking advertisement, somewhere within 12 rows of me.
..
My nostrils are burning, and am wondering what is truly worse: BO or American Bro.
Jury is still out.
I need sleep.
And a drink.
…And to find a way to put Axe Body Spray out of business.
***
(At Last)
OMG.
I am in England.
😀
~D
