i like to move it move it

written earlier today
I’m currently flying somewhere over (or so I speculate) eastern Washington. Sadly, I have no idea what is just east of Washington. I will, however, be finding out soon. I’ve been mentally making clichéd observations about patchwork landscapes that I’m ashamed to put to put to paper. I’m a better writer than that, dammit, but it’s true – the landscape does look like a patchwork quilt lovingly embroidered by your mom or grandma or someone who cares about you and just wants you to stay warm wrapped up in that proverbial blanket of emotion.

So there.

I’m reading that newish book by chuck klosterman and it’s making me feel like I should be working harder at what I know I’m good at – sitting back and finding patterns in books and the world at large and talking about them in writing. I feel this way because he writes in the same conversational tone as I do (at this point I feel the need to apologize for any perceived sense of hubris or self-idoloatry, but I can’t because I’m busy restraining myself from taking angus macintoy and whapping him over the head of the woman sitting in front of me. She keeps attempting to recline her seat back farther – I’m fairly sure it’s as far back as it should politely be reclined in these days of limited legroom and economy class bloodclots – and jamming my computer into my belly as I type. Rawr.) Anyway, C-dawg writes with the same tone as me (though infinitely more skill) and it makes me feel as though I should be doing more of it.

It’s hard, though, what with the architect pretty much living in my bedroom with me, since my car still refuses to function to expectation. I feel kinda rude whacking away at the bloggity, but there it is. So I try to write when I first get to work, but that can be dodgy as well – what if there are phone messages? Emails? Notes left on my monitor by colleagues and superiors? Dodgy.

The united cabin crew is distributing beverages and light snacks intended to keep the masses sated during our 2-hour hop to Denver. I’ve been handed biscuits which I am (miraculously) not allergic to, and am accepting a glass of nay an entire can of (strangely) tomato juice. Why tomato juice? I have no idea.

The architect had originally intended to fly to Colorado springs with me. Flight prices discouraged, this, and then just yesterday we formulated this spur of the moment adventure plan – he’s driving down, and we are going to take 3 days to drive back together (hence my cryptic comment about learning a bit about American geography). I’m excited about this because I’ve not seen much of the states – some bits of Tennessee, Atlanta, seattle (but only recently) and george Washington (which I now am intimately familiar with).

As an aside, no one else is bouncing around in their seat the way the woman in front of me is. I wonder if she can feel my laser death rays penetrating her seatback? Do you think she knows how close she is to horrifying mutilation and/or dismemberment?