Grant Me Wings that I Might Fly

Kathleen, Alyson and I got all checked in and boarded the plane with no problems.  I finally had a moment of relief after a week of anxiety when I was boarding the plane.  I had been separated from Alyson and Kathleen and was walking the "plane hallway thingy" alone (this was the consensus on what to call it. I'm pretty sure that's what it's called anyway.) I finally, after weeks of stress, had a moment of clarity.  I was alone, doing something so far outside my comfort zone on my own, however brief. 

I'M AN ADULT. And stuff. Hoorah!

This is the one at Charles De Gaulle in Paris. So freaking cool. 

Lift off was fascinating. I haven't flown in a plane in a while. Or flown in anything else for that matter. I last flew sophomore year of highschool. It felt exponentially more freeing this time. And interesting to think about the fact that if you stripped away the seat I was sitting on, the passengers and staff I was flying with, and the plane itself I would be floating through the air. Alone in its vastness and all that poetic bullshit. 

The plane took off, I was seated in an aisle seat next to the emergency exit so no one sat in front of me. Beside me was a middle aged American couple. They seemed nice enough. The man had exceptionally stubby sausage-like fingers. Watching him play with the personal touch screen TV was entertaining. He would jab his quarter-width fingertips against the screen with as much force as his two-thirds regular human length appendages could handle then get frustrated when the device didn't understand what he wanted. Further into the trip he spilled red wine on his fancy pants. That's entertainment.

 Somewhat ironically the first song that played on my spotify playlist was "At the Bottom of Everything" by Bright Eyes. Please listen.

http://youtu.be/dUjR7PFo-tQ

And I didn't give a damn about the fact that the opening lyrics describe a plane crash, because that song is fantastic.

Bon Voyage!

It has been somewhere around a million years since I've posted in this here blog. That's only an approximation. But my 'educated guesses' have always been pretty close.  

Anyway, quite a bit has changed in my life. A whole lot of self reflection. An equal amount of being weird. A lesser amount of acting like an adult. Today, however, I leave for Yssingeaux, France.  I will spend two months in the French countryside studying pastry in a castle at a school called ENSP (lookit up, boom) owned by Alain Ducasse. It sounds fake, really it does, but I assure you I am, in fact, actually doing this. Somehow I was able to dupe my school through interviews and essays into thinking I was worthy of such an experience. Rolled a nat 20 on a bluff check, I suppose.

Although a trip to France isn't exactly what this blog is typically about, I really don't give a gosh darned hoot. Also there are only four entries here, as far as my opinion is concerned that means this blog has as good as no theme. So there. Suck it. (Sorry Mom and Dad.)

My flight takes off from Boston at 610 PM. I feel... apprehensive? Really actually quite terrified. Excited too. Terrified and excited. Terricited. And apprehensive. 

I've had a lot of coffee, that's all you really need to know. 

Terricited.

But I digress. I leave from Logan International Airport with my classmates/roommates/friends Kathleen (read: Kait-hlyn) and Alyson (read: Aly-San.) We arrive in Paris around 640 AM France-time. We leave Paris at 745 and land in Lyon at 855 then catch a bus at noontime from Lyon to Yssingeaux. Pardon me, most of that was for my own peace of mind- itineraries are weird.