Friday, August 10, 2012

Notes on a Three Hour Layover


I always hated airports. Because airports are such important places, emotionally, and so poorly suited for the purpose. Airports are sterile, commercial, visually overwhelming and aesthetically barren. How can one be expected to have a meaningful moment when jostled about by bedraggled strangers, bored businessmen, tired children, and and their equally tired parents? No one cares. And even worse are all the other people having their own meaningful moments, your world is only one of a dozen worlds about to begin, or end, when the boarding call comes. It's impossible.

I actually like traveling more now that they've raised security, because even though I did have to go through the porno-scanner, which I object to on principle even if it doesn't actually bother me, now that no one can go with me to the gate, I am obliged to have my moments in better surroundings.

And yet, I still have "taking an airplane" filed under "unpleasant obligations," and rewardable with enormous financial and culinary excess. I have a very strong sense of what is expected of me, and the minute I deviate from this I am filled with righteous indignation. I worked twelve hours. I went to the dentist. Whenever an unpleasant but not overwhelming event happens, I immediately demand recompense. Usually in the form of food, but alcohol or sex, when available, will do as well.

And so, when I discover that Wok and Roll: Fine Asian Cuisine at MSP serves sliced BBQ pork, it's not just that I want it, because I try not to miss opportunities like that, but I am convinced that I deserve it. I'm in an airport, and the world owes me for that.

I also deserve dessert, so I take a tour around the entire airport, comparing dessert options and decide on an Oreo sundae at T.G.I. Friday's. And a white russian. I'm a little tipsy right now. My waitress' name is Angie and she was born three days after me. She's charming and I like her. There is late 90's music playing and I so very much want to sing along.

On my tour around the terminals I very nearly bought a $225 piece of luggage. And it was perfect luggage, perfect, but I have dental bills to pay and I promised myself I would be frugal this month.

Did I mention how perfect it is?

I fly twice a year. That adds up eventually. Right?

By the time I get to a network connection I may have a new piece of luggage. Or I may not.

It's $225 dollars. And perfect. And bright orange. I LOVE it.

It's light, and small enough to carry on, and feels well made (it had better be, for the price), and BRIGHT ORANGE. It folds small enough to fit in the luggage I'm walking around with right now. It comes in a pretty teal, and a red, and probably something black, not that I'd notice a black. But I'm stuck on orange.


I finished my drink. I gave Angie a 40% tip. Have I mentioned how ridiculously happy I am at this very moment? I am. And I left with the intention of buying my orange luggage except that I managed to talk myself into doing it later. Because no matter how perfect, I won't use it until Thanksgiving at the earliest, it's not like I'm going to switch bags and ship my current luggage back home. And it's not like street vendor jewelery, it's not going to go away, and I can buy it online when I get home and it isn't August anymore. So I am being reasonable and waiting. And while I wait I can see if there is actually an even more perfect luggage that just isn't for sale at the airport mall. There are lots of amazing things that aren't for sale at the airport mall. Look how reasonable I am being.


In a completely unrelated note, I may never look good naked again. I can diet myself into the shape I want, more or less, but I have been fat for a very long time, and I have too much skin now and it isn't going away. I droop. The skin over my belly is strangely lumpy, it sinks voluminously into itself. And nothing short of surgery is going to fix that. It is the price I pay for the choices I've made. It's a bit like a hangover, but on a very, very, long scale.

I knew what I was doing, and I did it deliberately. I considered my options and chose the best option available. I was ruining my body and it was ruining my mind. I starved myself, and I binged, I puked, I was stuck in my misery and self-hatred and even that wasn't enough to succeed. I had already lost nearly half an octave because my poor throat could no longer take the strain. And throughout it all, I was still, always, too fat, all I could see was fat.

I had tried, and failed, at moderation. I was trying and failing at self control, and I was losing everything else in the process. So I made a decision. I ate. And I stopped worrying about the consequences. I stopped looking. I cultivated a deliberate ignorance, a separation between body and mind, and I then told my body it could go to hell for all I cared. I wasn't going to watch. It took ten years before I could attempt to bridge that gap, before I thought that I might be well enough to try again. And now that I am well enough, I have to accept the consequences.


Sleepy… Dragons, then sleep. Boarding soon.


Note to self: A-line skirts, even when comfy with pockets, are terrible on airplanes.  Do not attempt again.

1 comment:

Diatryma said...

This is the best airport post I have ever read.