scrubjayspeaks: photo of a toddler holding an orange tabby cat (baby Joyce)
I'm back home. More than twenty-four hours after my flight landed, and I am still debilitatingly motion sick. I mean, I've always been highly susceptible to motion sickness. When I felt like the bed was vibrating under me the first night at my destination, this was to be expected. It cleared up by morning. Not this time! This time, by god, my body is prepared to go on strike indefinitely.

To make matters weirder, this evening I've been experiencing déjà vu like you would not believe. Just a constant bombardment of my psyche by intense and completely fabricated recollections of the current moment. The moments are meaningless in and of themselves. The echoes they seem to contain, however, create an impression of significance entirely out of proportion with their reality.

So what I'm taking away from this is that I somehow outran my own soul on the flight home, and now my essence has become displaced in space-time. I am, I can only assume, currently vulnerable to demonic possession. My flesh vessel has been left unguarded and unoccupied. If I end up provoking an apocalypse or something, my apologies in advance. But don't say I didn't warn you.
scrubjayspeaks: photo of a toddler holding an orange tabby cat (Default)
hey

hey


you know what's really fun about flying?


Being fat and having to worry about where you and your belongings will fit and how many dirty looks you'll get and how best to cram my existence into the smallest footprint possible.

Listen, it has been somewhere between fourteen and three thousand years since I last flew on a plane. I'm just taking a backpack because that is all I reasonably need for a four-day trip.

Less reasonably, I am desperately trying to get meaningful information about where this carryon bag will fit and what unspeakable things will be done to it when I'm not looking. I am measuring it many times. I am squashing its sides into various configurations that might be deemed acceptable. It's not large! I mean, it's kinda poofy? But it's just, like, four shirts and a pair of jeans? Why is this so stressful?

At this point, I'm giving up and taking a smaller bag with me that I can put things in once I'm through security. That will be my "thieves, THIEVES, I'm surrounded by thieves" bag, in which I can keep my cash and tablet and snacks. So then I can put my backpack into the overhead storage and hope that no one feels compelled to steal my belt or underwear.

My GOD, I was not programmed to be travel compatible.

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scrubjayspeaks: photo of a toddler holding an orange tabby cat (Default)
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