Sunday, 12 July 2015

No further ahead.

I'm not a snob about flying, it's just rare to do so on public aircraft these days. There were too many people going to do it any other way. If I offended you with my one-percentism, I'm sorry. I'm a tiny clumsy, claustrophobic who always seems hungriest when there is no way to get food. Really we're used to taking the jet that Caleb leases. He said he wants to spoil me and I think he has. Maybe I should be thrown out.

Ben is back and life isn't a beach, soft and sandy. It's rustic, rocky and jagged. Dangerous, even. Unfamiliar, untested and strange. Some of this is like riding a bicycle and some of it's like learning another language. It isn't clicking. I know enough Ben to get by but I'm not fluent in the least.

It doesn't help that Lochlan is hardly speaking, content to nod and tip his head and whisper things to me but to otherwise not engage. The weeks we were given were time wasted. We don't know what we're doing. There wasn't enough time to find out. There were two millionaires and a lot of regular joes breathing down my neck and I feel squeezed and pressured and at the same time I twist in the wind.

There are no easy answers but at the same time when I woke up as the meat in the sandwich it felt right. And I always go on feelings, don't I?