Back before the Internet, when we'd wear bonnets and churn our own butter, I used to come up with all sorts of ways to practice writing. I'd write letters to whomever I happened to be thinking of at the moment, from wherever I happened to be. I've decided to get back in the habit, because everyone loves to get a letter. But, as a nod to modern times, I'll be posting them online as well. (Next step? iPod. Oh, who are we kidding?)
I write this from somewhere between Minneapolis and San Francisco. The family in front of me is wearing surgical masks as a classy nod to swine flu. It's a level of paranoia that would do Australia proud. I am in the window seat, and the young man next to me is so profoundly asleep that he is most likely still drunk from the night before. Naturally, this is the time that my bladder has decided to assert itself.
More pressing is the teenager in front of me, who feels compelled to punch me in the kidneys every time she rummages through her seat compartment.
On the plus side, I had the entire row to myself from Washington to Minneapolis. And, on both flights, I was gifted with a full can of ginger ale. (Though, considering I've yet to extricate myself from the big sleeping dude, I may live to regret that one.)
Victory! Restroom achieved! On behalf of my entire endocrine system, thank you Jesus.
Come and visit me soon, just try not to sit next to the sleeping Colossus on the long haul from Sydney.