I’m typing this in my notes app on my phone, because my plane doesn’t have WiFi.
Sorry, let me not paraphrase. The flight attendant said:
“We’re on our journey to equipping every aircraft in our fleet with high speed WiFi. Unfortunately this plane does not yet have WiFi capabilities.” It was a really long way to say we don’t have WiFi. For an airline they should really figure out how to land the plane. Anyway.
I’m sitting here, hurtling along at 30,000 feet with just my thoughts and my music. I don’t even have my book because I had to put it in my carry-on that had to be gate checked because it was too big. I was the girl holding up the whole aisle because I had the hubris to think I could fit my rolling bag in the overhead bin after they said I probably couldn’t. I said you don’t understand- I’m not like other girls. I’m stubborn. My bag is literally so skinny it’s fine. So they gave me the pink tag and I walk-of-shamed against the current with my bag.
While my belongings and my book sit below me, I sit here, gazing longingly out the window. I just came from a trip to Wisconsin with my best friends from high school. We try to all get together at least once a year, now that we all live in a scatter plot of US cities. The weekend was rejuvenating, it was cozy and cramped in the best way, and I got to share a toilet with 6 people who loved me through my “clear” braces phase.
At the very end of this trip, and I mean the very end, as my plane was taxiing, I received the text that we’ve all received and sent many times.
“Hey, I’ve been doing some thinking and…”
“Hey, I’ve been reflecting and…”
“Hey ugly, you suck! HAGS!”
Maybe it was one or two dates, maybe it was a few weeks of texting and pretending to argue over the bill at a natural wine bar. Whatever it was, you know what it wasn’t.
I won’t say too much because during the 8 days of this most recent courtship he did read this and report back to me. He liked my writing! This is important because male approval is the only reason I started this blog. But he did call it pillow talk so maybe he didn’t really read it.*
Every guy I date, every connection that ends, I learn something. Usually it’s about their job, sometimes it’s about their childhood, rarely it’s about a piece of literature. But every time, it adds to my collection of the stuff of life. Every time, I find out one more thing I hate about the NFL.
When I first moved to New York, 5 years ago, I got coffee with a girl from my high school who was working in journalism here. She told me that the first few years of my time in New York, especially as an aspiring writer, should be thought of as my “experience collecting phase.” Because what do I have to write about if I don’t experience anything? My childhood? My job? Nobody cares about that.
I welcome so many more awkwardly worded goodbye texts. So many more apartments I’m denied because I wouldn’t give the broker a vial of my blood. So many more roaches in my apartment. No not that one. Please no more of that.
When I land back in New York, I’ll continue collecting experiences so that I have something to write about. Or just to pass the time until the floods come for us all.
*By the time I landed and turned my phone back on, he sent a text correcting pillow talk to Pillow Town. I wish him all the best.
Sent from my iPhone.