2:49 p.m. | 2004-02-26
The Change: Part 1 of 4
*Disclaimer*
--This is part one of a four part series--
Rode on an airplane recently? Well�I�m sure this isn�t a huge ball buster for a ton of you�but when I go on the airplane I typically like space. Enough for my knees not to me rammed into the steel beams in the seat in front of me. Enough for my tray to sit on my lap and have room to put something on it; like perhaps a cup? Enough so that I can open my little laptop (baby, darling, dearest, aka Winston) and be able to tap out a few things.
What do I get?
About a 2ftx2ft square that extends up about 4 feet. My legs aren�t that long, and I even have an aisle seat. My issue? I think I paid $300 to be transported approximately 2004 miles. Now I have the immovable arm rest to the aisle on my right digging into my thigh (edit: I checked later and I have a bruise on my thigh in a small line about 4 inches long), my knee on one side is rammed into the seat pocket in front of me, the other is out in the aisle (�annoying cart lady,� or ACL has hit it 3 times�no warning), the man to my left has gotten out three times and has no concept of personal space, and lastly, my right arm is taking the beating of its life.
I�m not going to complain. I�m just gonna fly first class next time.
(Here�s where ACL walks backwards into my arm with hot coffee, spills a little, and then proceeds to stick her tray in my face. Not to mention berate me for having a few inches of my bag sticking out.)
Not to complain, though. Things aren�t horrible. At all.
How do I lie so well?
I was sitting here with my eyes closed, after the gentleman next to me�s 2nd trip up, and my mind starts wandering. I started to think about the week, and my plans, and what�s going on in my life, etc. Next thought that comes (ahhhh, crazy lady who talks to the gentleman next to me just stuck her finger in my eye. It was salty! Why oh why?)�so the next thought through my head is Hank. He�s not a character I�m going to explain besides the fact that love him (like I love all my kiddies) and that he means a ton to me. More than that, maybe. But that�s not the thing�from Hank (and how I feel bad either doing things with other guys or just ending it with him because I can�t stand to see his little heart be dragged along) my thoughts move to Gabe.
Why you ask? We have no idea. I�m still asking the small group of men in my head why they decided to pull the Gabe card. I start thinking and I almost break into tears with my eyes closed (honestly, they were a bit teary). I care a lot for that boy. But as he shoved his girlfriend in my face the other day, and I had this horrid realization that no one loves me/wants me/is willing to be with me at this point in my life.
And then I start to think of all the nice nights where he�d hold my hand, or kiss my forehead and tell me to stop crying. All the times I claimed I wasn�t beautiful and he�d stare at me like I was nuts. I miss that kind of interaction. (Oh lord, another friend of the gentleman next to me just stuck his groin in my face). I�m going to cry. Oh wait, already did. Fuck.
...continue on to part two...
Signing Off--Lauren
