One Twenty Five

5 hours. 37 minutes. <— time lapsed. 20+ hours <— to go. Phssssh. Child’s play.

I’m on my second  flight right now, sitting in a window seat on a huge, packed plane. 29F. That’s me. The woman two over from me is an actual iPad commercial. I cannot believe how well she has maximized the use of her iPad (editing photos, crosswords, books, solitaire, learning Spanish, etc). She’s heading home to LA after visiting her daughter in Chicago.

Then there is the man next to me. The man in 29E. He’s going to LA for work. I hate using the word ‘fat’ as it’s my constant fear that’s how people describe me (y’know Liz…. The girl with the long brown hair. The one who’s fat. “OH HER”), but I don’t know how else to describe him… He has to have the arm rests up on both sides of him (which proved all sorts of awkward when I tried to plug me earphones in). I’m as close to the window as possible as to not touch him more than is appropriate. And he also couldn’t put down his tray because of his stomach - I pretended I didn’t notice.

I kind of wish I could talk to him about it. ‘It’ of course being weight. Granted he’s 40+, but I still feel like weight struggles and insecurities are the same at all ages. I want to tell him I understand. And as I type this there is a bag of peanut m&ms in my bag which I SWORE TO MYSELF I wouldn’t buy. But then did. (Obviously. I always have issues with food when i’m alone.) And I want to share with him how I’m sitting here fighting myself not to eat them. Devour them, actually, and how they’re all I’m thinking about. And I want to tell him how when I used to take flights the seat belts were always super tight, and, well, just that I get it. How I’m not judging him, or even care that I don’t have an arm rest right now because of his weight because I understand. I get it. The whole eating-so-much-food-when-one-knows-they-shouldn’t thing - I get it.

But I won’t tell him any of this. It’s not my place. Hell, maybe I’m just being a judgmental bitch right now and making these huge assumptions. Maybe he doesn’t care… I don’t think so though, I can tell from his body language. He’s insecure. Uncomfortable in his own skin. I know *exactly* what it’s like… I’ve been there. I recognize it.

((Pause. Break. Seatbelt sign on. Mad turbulence))

I wasn’t as emotional this time around at the airport. As predicted, there were bag issues and then suddenly it was time for me to go through customs - everything happened so fast. Goodbyes were said. Hugs were given. And then I was gone. But really, I could have sat there forever telling my family how much i’ll miss them and how much i love them.  The lady behind me in line said, ‘wow, you are loved.’ I replied, I know.

But maybe I should have cried. Sometimes it’s better to cry, no? Because I am soooooooooo emotional right now. Like there is a kids  movie on the tv right now - about a dolphin who gets an artificial tail - and every sappy word muttered fills me to the point of fighting back tears. SO EMOTIONAL. AND. OH THE POOR DOLPHIN.

((iPad lady is now watching a video on knitting))

For those who have never gone trough USA customs it’s the worst. The Worst. They drill you - why? Who? What? When? You’re moving to Melbourne? What for? “Because I wanted to.” What do you mean, you wanted to? You just decided one day to… just leave? “Yea…pretty much.” Do have a job there? “No.” What about your boyfriend here? “I don’t have one.” I find that hard to believe… INAPPROPRIATE MR. USA CUSTOMS GUY. INAPPROPRIATE

I also have to thank everyone - virtual and non - for their love and support lately. It’s been incredible and I cannot express how amazing the emails have been (which I saved for this plane ride). Thank you. So much. Thank you. I am doing my best to respond to them all and am so grateful for each one.

OHHHHH YES. So sometimes I am a lucky lucky girl - story time: I got my (new!) Apple headphones out to listen to the movie, but what’s that? But they didn’t work at all. (Lame Apple. Lame.) Obviously I was soooo annoyed, but then by chance looked in my magazine slip/cover/thing in front of me and voila! some poor soul had left theirs behind. (don’t worry - I sanitized those babies first). But score!

Ohhhhhh also. okCupid and Liz. And Liz and okCupid. “Need someone to show you around?” Why yes. Yes I do. Who’s ready for some Australian men? answer: this gal (in a very PG13 way of course).

Okay. Battery of iPhone must be saved thus I must go. ‘twas a ramble, I know, but thank you for listening, and thank you, Little Blog, for helping me kill 15 min - me thinks in the next few months we’re going to get awfully close (<— your warning. As legit, you are my only friend here. YOU KNOW YOU’RE COOL WHEN…)

xo Liz

——

Pet peeve number 8,679: airports that don’t have free wifi. Meaning the previous post is still sitting in my drafts (thankyouverymuch LA airport).

Anywho, I am nearly over Australia!! The little map on the tv tells me so. I’m currently in hour 22 of my journey and all things considering? I’m good. Perhaps because breakfast is about to be served (guilty as charged: I love airplane food), or because there is nobody in the seat next to me (holla!). But. But I keep having moments, actual split seconds, where I freak out and want off this plane, want back in my old life. Where my regular Monday mornings of coffee runs where the barrister knows my name and order, and where my gym bag sits under my desk for my run that evening, where I know what will happen tomorrow, next week, next month…  But that’s now all gone and in a mere 5.5 hours I’ll be landing in Melbourne with nothing. I won’t go all sappy on your ass, but it’s a strange feeling, one I probably couldn’t get across if I tried.

—-

DOES THIS WORK? Internet in Sydney is being sketchy. Or. It’s the Tumblr app. Anywho - I’M IN SYDNEY. And already feeling the warmth of the sun.  I board (again) in about 10 minutes to Melbourne…. FINAL STRETCH. Nervous/Excited/Scared part of me never wants my flight to land, but then again part of me wouldn’t trade this for the world. xo