11:00 AM
I have been up since 4:30 AM after sleeping for little more than three hours, all told. My throat burns from bile and poor nutrition and my eyes are thick but I can’t sleep.
I’ve been in this airport since 8 AM and now have little tolerance for stuffy lobbies and chairs with no headrests.
I’ve been reading Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls for most of two hours and I think his masculine, utilitarian and dense prose is getting to me. It’s taken me a while to warm up to his style, but I’m quite enamored of it now.
Perhaps I’ll sit next to the cute Redhead and flirt. Only time may tell. I don’t know how charming I could be with a head full of Hemingway and a stomach full of acid, little sleep and little patience. But only time may tell.
Damn. She seems to be with her family. Not married, but I still could try to steal her away in front of her mother? Grandmother?
The pleasant, equally-upset attendant informed us, just now, the plane is sick.
11:30 AM
I can’t get the kink out of my back. No amount of twisting, wiggling and stretching relieves the pressure. I keep fidgeting. I open my bag, take out the book, close the bag. Find my spot. I can’t read right now. I open the bag, put the book in, shut it. Lean against the phone booth in front of me. Stretch. Open they bag. Take out the pencil and pad, scratch down fatigue-fed whiny rants. Put it back in the bag. Try to get comfortable. This damn air vent/ledge is not compatable with my ass.
Christ, my legs are hot. Maybe I should’ve brought something other than jeans. I hope I have enough money for the trip. I left my checkbook in the car. Not that many people accept out of state starter checks.
I have been up since 4:30 AM after sleeping for little more than three hours, all told. My throat burns from bile and poor nutrition and my eyes are thick but I can’t sleep.
I’ve been in this airport since 8 AM and now have little tolerance for stuffy lobbies and chairs with no headrests.
I’ve been reading Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls for most of two hours and I think his masculine, utilitarian and dense prose is getting to me. It’s taken me a while to warm up to his style, but I’m quite enamored of it now.
Perhaps I’ll sit next to the cute Redhead and flirt. Only time may tell. I don’t know how charming I could be with a head full of Hemingway and a stomach full of acid, little sleep and little patience. But only time may tell.
Damn. She seems to be with her family. Not married, but I still could try to steal her away in front of her mother? Grandmother?
The pleasant, equally-upset attendant informed us, just now, the plane is sick.
11:30 AM
I can’t get the kink out of my back. No amount of twisting, wiggling and stretching relieves the pressure. I keep fidgeting. I open my bag, take out the book, close the bag. Find my spot. I can’t read right now. I open the bag, put the book in, shut it. Lean against the phone booth in front of me. Stretch. Open they bag. Take out the pencil and pad, scratch down fatigue-fed whiny rants. Put it back in the bag. Try to get comfortable. This damn air vent/ledge is not compatable with my ass.
Christ, my legs are hot. Maybe I should’ve brought something other than jeans. I hope I have enough money for the trip. I left my checkbook in the car. Not that many people accept out of state starter checks.
posted by Krister Rollins | 7:54 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home