blog of an airplane ride from LGA to JAX

Well, today was certainly a brighter day; luckily, I just couldn’t contain the excitement I built up for going to Florida to see Megan. Not that I wanted to squash it anyway.

I went about my day as usual, work at 9; a complete rush through the day just to get what I needed done. I’m going to try not to lose sleep over the few (and by few I mean ~a dozen) patients that need continued auth and are likely to have a lapse in authorization because I didn’t get to them fast enough. I basically skipped a week of checking and because of that I’m a week behind and cutting it very close. But alas, I am on vacation- er, holiday, and will not stress myself over crazy shit I cannot control.

Chris called while I was gushing on about him to Pat. He was apparently in Chicago, attempting to get to the Sears Tower to climb it before their next train. I neglected to ask later if they’d accomplished their feat. I’m sure I’ll find out when he gets back. Plus, there’ll certainly be pictures.

So I left work at 3, got gas and cash, and sat in traffic as is the way it works when I get in my car. But I made it to Queens in time to fill my prescription (birth control) and grab some dinner (a BCB at a diner across the street from the CVS that was handling my drogas) before Sean & Joana got home. We hung out for a bit at their place, and headed to LGA ‘round 6:30. Chris called again while we were en route. I still can’t believe how mushy and happy I get just hearing his voice. He quite adorably told me he loved me before getting off the phone, and iced the friggen’ cake. I’m sure my feeling about it will change, and I’m also sure being on a plane to Florida has something to do with it, but I feel as though I have a balance in the missing him/enjoying this time to myself department. I’m happy he’s out doing something good for him. And I need this to be healthy.

Anyway, I got to the airport around a quarter to seven. I figured it might take about a half an hour to check in and hit a bar for a bloody mary. Changes to that plan: it took about 6 minutes to check in, and they were margaritas, not bloody marys (and there were two of them). I was under the impression I had never been to LGA before, but as it turns out, ‘Stine & I flew to Vegas from there, and the mini-Chili’s was quite familiar. Go Delta. Anyway, a blonde having a bad day sits down at the bar next to me and asks the bartender to put on the Yankee game. She refuses. Apparently the sports bar down the way was the same: only CNN for us. Lou Dobbs or Lou Dobbs were the options. The Blonde gets a beer. I get a margarita. I also get IDed. She did not. “Great, I look older than you,” she comments, and leaves immediately after drinking her Bud Light. I, however, stay for a second nine-dollar tropical sunrise goodness- er, margarita. I jotted down my proposal (paper for class) notes before the first one made it to my head, at least. I will write it up on Sunday and email it to Sue to make sure it’s cool I stick with the plan I’ve come up with. That way I will be able to begin the 17-day self-sleep study upon my return.

My next companion at the bar is a Brit on his way to Alabama. From London, and in NY for business in hedge funds, Mr. No Name at least provided for intelligent, amusing conversation until it was time to hover at the gate and wait for the herds to be let out. Fifteen minutes late. But hey, for Delta, that seems to be a record.

And let out we were. To a bus. That took our lazy asses about 1000 feet away, to the itty bitty plane we then boarded. I am, as usual, sitting over the wing. Not that I’ve ever really cared, but on the return flight I’m in row three, so I know I definitely won’t be over the wing. I have the side with the moon, though, which is just…amazing. I cannot believe, from inside a decently lit airplane, through a scratched, cloudy window, how bright the moon is.

We’re low enough to the ground that my ears thus far have neither pained me nor remained clogged. They have successfully been popping and have yet to cause me any problems. Descents are the issue though, and I’m fresh out of gum and unable to get to the Sudafed stashed in my bag. I honestly don’t believe gum and/or Sudafed do anything anyway, so I should be fine. If I’m not, I’ll relieve the tension through words, and it will be readable as soon as I publish this later tonight.

Before boarding, while waiting around for our flight status to change from “on time” to “you’re screwed,” I overheard some bit about not serving drinks or snacks on the flight, and consolidating bags. Figuring with the two margaritas under my belt, it’d be wise to invest in a non-alcoholic beverage and maybe a light snack, so I spent seven bucks on a soda and some snack mix. I find out on the flight that snacks and drinks are, in fact, being served. I was evidently listening to the recording for the Atlanta flight. Needless to say, I didn’t accept any of the snacks or drinks when our Irish flight attendant came ‘round offering them up. I felt as if I should’ve, though. Seems like…I paid for the flight, and I might as well get the snacks that accompany it. Plus, people that refuse the offerings are…weird. I shouldn’t be so surprised I was one of them tonight.

Additionally, our bathroom is out of service. Well, that’s not entirely true. Emergency bathroom trips are accepted…with a flashlight. It’s evidently against regulations to allow passengers to use a bathroom without functioning lights. And our lavatory lights are less than functional. I don’t think they’d get away with allowing us to board the plane were it a larger sized one. There are only fifty people on here, so the likelihood of an emergency bathroom run is pretty slim. (But not unheard of: two people have used it thus far. I know, because I’m a row away from it.)

Another flight regulation is the nothing in lap/nothing out from underneath the seat in front of you rule (during takeoff and landing). I’d like to know the logic behind that one. I have this big ol’ backpack I thought was going to have to be stowed. I would’ve fought it, but I’d like to know why I can’t put my purse on my lap if I so choose.

Awkwardly, we needed two additional passengers in the back of the plane. It’s a little scary, yes, to hear the flight attendant ask if two volunteers from the front of the plane could move to the back to “level the weight distribution.” Come on, that’s not a little creepy?! I guess that also comes with the small airplane territory. I happen to like these little guys though. I say that now, as the turbulence begins. Bouncing planes are creepy, but they remind me too much of trains, so minor turbulence doesn’t bother me. And I’ve ridden the Metro North, so even more moderate turbulence isn’t really a nuisance.

Anyway, Megan kind of scared me when I told her I was taking a baby airplane, but my ears are so sensitive I will take any potential negative aspects of mini-planes to salvage my sanity and eardrums.

A majority of the people I’ve spoken to this evening have been foreigners. I get it, I was in an airport, but most of them have been on my flight, which is domestic. The couple behind me, the guy sitting next to me (who played a song on his iPod that I want: “something to rely on” are the lyrics), even the flight attendant are from not-here. I’m bad at accents, so I can’t tell you where anyone might be from, but the flight attendant is was born in Cork, which is awesome. I am reminded of my grandmother, and even if that is a subconscious comfort thing I need to feel better about being all the way up here in the air, I’m fine with that. I also took “Angel” by Sarah MacLaughlin playing on the radio in my car when I left Chris at the train station as a sign of comfort and support. I was trying so hard not to cry, I would’ve taken anything that might be construed as a "sign", but that was a pretty good one. Thinking my grandmother (or her spirit? Or memory? Or legacy?) is here with me makes life a little easier sometimes.

::Laugh:: (it was a light laugh; no one stared.) I knew writing this would take up enough time that this flight wouldn’t seem long. We should be landing in about twenty minutes. The seatbelt light is still off, so I don’t think we’re descending yet, but it feels a little like we are, which would be totally cool. Writing my day/thoughts/etc. really takes up some time. I’m glad I do this thing for me every day (or so). I’ve two things left I wanted to contemplate, but I will save them for tomorrow as this blog is certainly long enough as it is, and no one is going to read it in its entirety at this point. Not that I really mind; it’s ultimately for me.

Here’s to landing safely in Florida within the next half hour and seeing my Megan again after two years!

Addendum: Ten minutes later. We are definitely beginning to descend, say my ears. However, we are above a thunderstorm, which looks really fucking scary from this high. I mean totally completely awesome, yes, but still really fucking scary. We’re in the sky, with random flashing electrical charges. Oh my God. I don’t’ even know how to calm myself down, nor do I know how to stop myself from staring out the fucking window. Here I was, worried about Chris and Colorado thunderstorms. At his moment, I know he’ll be fine, and I’m scared for my own life. The guy next to me seems like he’d coach me through whatever shit happens though, and I’m thankful for that.

Also, with regard to my ears? OW. Maybe the lightning is just the distraction I need. I’m torn between holycraparemyearsbleeding?! and fuckingelectricityrightnexttous! I could use some of that gum about now.

At Megan's. Pictures later, though. I'm lucky enough to get a connection to the interwebs in this place. Although, I must admit, "this place" is absolutely gorgeous!