Friday, May 31, 2013

Chicago.

Chicago.

The flight didn't feel that long, although I didn't sleep that well. There was so much rush, life was happening so quickly I felt its silver tendrils slipping through my fingers and before I could hold on, it had slipped away and I was on yet another plane. Making arrangements to be sure my tiny little overlord was serviced while I was away, collecting shopping lists, calling people, making arrangements, writing, so much writing.
It kills me that I write for a living when all I want to do is write, and yet, it sort of makes a kind of weird parallel sense. It's just that not all the writing I do is for me, nor is all the writing I do writing I want to do. I'll write anyway.

The trip seemed shorter and less fraught with complications than usual. The older couple next to me were visiting family in Korea and they were good travelers. We got on well together. The movies on the plane did not suck. The food was barely noticed. I had a layover in Detroit, which seems like probably the best possible way to do Detroit. During my layover I discovered that American food is still overproduced and not very good, that the wine in crappy American restaurants is cheap and not fun to drink, and that time in Detroit runs about an hour longer than time anywhere else in the world. After what seemed like the seven-year layover I finally got on my last plane and happily slept soundly until touchdown in Chicago.

Chicago was a great glittery beast when I flew in, all night and lights winking on and off. I grabbed my bags, found my boy, and headed for  a Greek restaurant, where I discovered I was fully ravenous for and strongly filled with a desire for Greek meat, which I ate happily while chatting with the Boy on my way home. My bed was pillow softness and I slept hard and fast, and actually really well considering.

The next day was all about being jet lagged, with an afternoon phone meeting, lunch with parental units, and television with my dear sweet boy. It was then that I started staring down the barrel of everything that was upcoming. Cross-country road trip, IML, Shibaricon, the Fetish Ball, and some new day-to-day work. The silvery tendrils of life were waving like forgotten ropes in the wind, and I kept reaching out for them, and kept failing to grasp, and still slipping down them, still climbing up them all the same.

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