Selfishly missing travel - specifically plane rides - and thinking about this lil thing I wrote elsewhere last year when I thought I was sick, which I am not (yet!) but still:
"So it turns out that it was mostly my occasionally debilitating allergies wot done it, and now I’m sitting on my bed post-doctor experiencing something I’ve only really felt during my best-planned long-haul flights, where a not-entirely-terrible meal has been served, the lights have been dimmed, I’ve face-wiped and moisturized and changed into my plane socks and I’m nursing half a Xanax and a whiskey-ginger ale and sitting back in my window seat, always the window seat, looking out at what usually is the last little bit of sun setting. It’s a contentedness that I don’t experience often, but I’m feeling it now except now the plane is my bed and the whiskey-ginger ale and Xanax are a beer, a tall Hydro Flask of water, a kombucha, and my arsenal of allergy pills and sprays, and maybe a bit of Ativan for bed later. I think the message is, you’ve got everything you need, and you’re precisely where you need to be, and because of this you will be fine."
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