I watched Waitress tonight. My moral doubts about this movie aside (can you put such things aside when evaluating a story?), I thought it was great. It made something click for me about how I view relationships, illustrated some theories I was developing, helped me realize some things about my current love life. Then I listened to Coldplay's Swallowed in the Sea and danced around the bathroom while brushing my teeth.
I've left the forbidden tundra that is enemy territory and forged ahead to brighter skies. I'm staying with Aunt March (I wish I had enough knowledge of literature to name all my friends and family after literary characters), which should be enjoyable, despite the amount of work I realized that I should get done before Wednesday. As I was in the airport this afternoon, I thought how great it would be to get called over the loudspeaker just once, to be paged for your flight as one of those "Southwest Airlines is paging passenger John Frost, final boarding call." But I thought about how worried I would be about actually missing my flight, so worried that the only way I would let such a paging happen would be if I were actually in the waiting area by the gate, and how weird that would be if I was so paged and then stood up to board the plane. I thought, therefore, that such a thing would never happen. Well, lucky me, after passing through security, I went for breakfast at the ever-tempting Cinnabon and got distracted by the fact that there was actually free Wi-Fi. Before I knew it, I had twenty minutes before my flight left, ten before they closed the plane door, and my gate was the farthest away from Cinnabon. I packed up my stuff and discretely sprinted away, and just as I came within view of my gate, the attendant picked up the microphone to give the final boarding call, rattling off the names of the tardy customers who had yet to board.
My name wrapped up the list.