Interlude

Every time I get on a plane I think how amazing it is that we can fly through the air. And I think about life, and that I am happy to have lived so well. And that I really want to live a bit longer, because there is still so much I want to do.

Today coming back into LA, the hills were an emerald green, greener than I have ever seen them. And I was able to imagine for a second that I was coming home to somewhere else, where the hills are always this green, and happiness fluttered in my stomach. For a second.

But the hills gave way to uniform lines of tracted, gridded, swimming-pooled housing, spreading for LA’s unfathomable miles, and then the suburbs melted into the ghettoes. And the man sitting next to me continued to adjust … let’s just say to adjust himself. He had been doing so since he first sat down an hour and a half before. And I realized that I am good at unseeing things but not that good, so I curled up into myself, and into the window. And it upset me, as did the hour wait for the flyaway, and somehow I lost my ‘stay away’ face, that comes and goes since I left South C for Scotland, and got seriously hit on and I just wasn’t in the mood.

Hopefully soon the hills beneath the plane will be the ones I want. Right now I just want to run away, but it would be nice instead to be running to. Or with. Or something like that. And I dream of the LSE decision, but sadly, and on all fronts I care about, this is the time of no reply. And I have no wine.

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