Above Illinois

STL to PHL
iPod: The Spring Standards
Below: Illinois? What time is it?

Some thirty thousand feet below me there are people living a Midwestern life. Passing the time doing whatever one does to pass the time in the Midwest. Drive-in movies? Walks to the fishin' hole? Double dates and double scoops? I suppose as incredulous as it seems to a city girl, folks do like that kind of simple life. I'm not sure where the "life" part happens or how one knows they're actually having one, but I suppose with enough wine I could muster up some vague understanding, if not the sense of purpose.

To be clear, I don't find a return to the 1950s ideal, but I do rather like the bits where women don't HAVE to work, and we wear high heels and day dresses with pearls. When the thing presenting the most stress on any given day is making sure the roast is in at 3, and the martinis are cold at cocktail hour. Of course, I would want to do that from my pre-war classic six on the Upper East Side.

Clouds now obstruct my view of middle America and I somehow feel less depressed by those people. I know they're still down there, but now I don't have to look at them. It's like looking into the face of poverty. I know it exists but I'd prefer to pretend it doesn't because it makes me feel guilty. And frankly, I create enough imaginary guilt in my life. There's no reason to self-inflict. I'm not sure what it says about me that I'd rather look at fluffy whiteness than think about what could possibly be happening in the lives of farmers. Probably nothing.

I wonder what it says about the guy next to me that he's reading about the "boyfriend" jean cut in a gossip magazine. We could jump on the gay bandwagon… or, we could consider other options. Like he works for a fashion house. Or he's en route to New York to interview for an apprenticeship with GQ. Or he's just gay and there's nothing more interesting going on there than that.

It's dark now. I've played a couple of rounds of Freecell and eyeballed Boyfriend Jeans' confidential software application documents. Usually I'm sleeping now but tonight I can't keep my eyes off the clock. 7:58:29….31….40…46…48…51…57…7:59… that's Central time.

Two rows behind me is a guy I once worked with. That was an awkward gate conversation.

Restart.

Entry One.
Blog Two.

I'm so pissed I could spit. My previous site has collapsed in an unexpected poof of electronic dust; jettisoned into internet ether. 

What? Didn't I have a back up...? Well, kind of. Not really. 

I have a couple of rough drafts, a couple of bits I'd discarded altogether, but no, not everything. Not half of everything. Maybe it's The Universe's way of telling me to just stop. I probably remember all those words as being much better than they were, anyway...

So I'm going to sit a wallow for awhile. Try to come up with a plan. If you're new here (well, at the moment EVERYONE is!), I'll try not to reference stuff and stories you'll never be able to read - because that's just rude.

And I hate rude.