Starstruck

An airplane ride provides frozen time. Frozen? I mean paused. During an airplane ride, a girl has an isolated chunk of time to think, bite her nails, drink that awful juice from concentrate, or simply look inside her neighbor's notebook. Maybe those are just my vices. I took a ride today from Boston to Chicago. I sat between a man and woman, he with graying hair and she with a bestselling novel.I wonder if I looked crazy. I would scroll through my ipod, look out the window, scroll through my ipod, hunt for a pen, scroll, close my eyes, get up, sit down, write, sip, sip, tap my foot. I was restless, thinking about my life, decompressing. I would look at the clouds sliding by and imagine myself with arms outstretched, stepping from cloud to cloud before falling through the mists. Maybe it's SkyMall magazine that induces this. My mind can't streamline when faced with teapots shooting tear gas and sweaters made of blankets. I let myself be swept up in the ceaseless emptiness of the sky outside, finally settling on "Time To Say Goodbye," a song that reminds me of my dear friend Zoe and Roman adventures. I wasn't soothed but I felt something, that particular airplane free fall.