You’ve probably never seen the
movie FLESH GORDON. But if you have, you know what I mean when I say the First Class
seats on Virgin America have these ridiculous penisaurus-like phalli sprouting
out from between the headrests, all cockeyed (haw haw haw! i am hysterical over this pun!) and curious with big-one-eyed stupor.
If were a man – a real man – there is no way in hell I would fly First Class
with one of those things sticking out by my head.
Yes. Another flight. This time:
Seattle. But what does it matter. I am tired of moving around and tired of
staying put. So this trip is part work, part respite. A touch of cool, of
relaxed; a change-of-scenery; a visit; an unzip-the-skull-mind-opening-brain-draining-reset
between the pages (to be written: mine).
I arrived eight hours ago – a pleasant
blur of tall pine trees from the conspicuous red Jeep simmering oil as it
bounced down the road; bridges, harbors, fjords and mountains pointed out;
a fabulous dinner; and magic water. Of all the things on my mind as I sink into
my second story bed beneath the timbers, as the wind whistles and rattles
the blinds; it’s the water. Susan has me started on the magic water and already
it’s having an anticipated (not eagerly) effect. The sleepy ginger cat lifts his
head as my tummy rumbles; it brings to mind the giardia episode. But I won’t
get into that here and now. Time for rest.
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