Saturday, January 3, 2009


The pill I took before boarding has kicked in, so I feel more subdued than I normally do when everything familiar to me is buried under clouds. The bad thing though is that there was nothing written into the pill's recipe that helps dampen the rage I feel for everyone I know back on the bulbous face of the land below.

There's cranberry juice they brought for me in a little can, an in flight magazine that details stuff I could do in different cities that are beyond my means or interest, and this stabbing feeling within me that I might not be able to put up with any of it any longer.

I'm not one to act out on my inner violence, which might be why I feel these things so intensely inside my body. My feet hurt, my head, my hands. Its like it's all pushing to my boundaries, trying to escape.

I was always loved and I'm still loved.

As much as that means, it couldn't matter less.

The guy next to me, a businessman on his way back home, has fallen asleep while the movie that won the Oscar last year plays on his laptop.

The pill I mentioned taking before, it wasn't for nerves or anything like that. That's not what I need to be brought down from because that's not what I feel.

It was to temper the force of my relief with being here on this plane. Angry as I am, there's comfort.

People who are truly afraid to die don't fly. Those of us who book tickets and board, no matter what we say, are eager to embrace death. The plane implodes or explodes, there's fire and noise, voices cheer loudly and sob. We die as heroes, martyrs of chance.

This is how we exit.

No comments: