93. And the fog rolled in.

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I’ve just had a little reminder that life sometimes doesn’t give a fuck about your best laid plans.

The pilots are calling it fog in Shanghai, most probably a pea soup combination of nature and its toxic belching opposite slugging it out for supremacy.

So with four hours to catch a plane to Paris, I find myself loitering somewhere in the world that is neither of the two places I had planned to be.

I’m somewhere in South Korea. But I only know that due to Instagram’s location search thing. The announcer said we were in Hjsbief. or xjAHVfuarse. Completely indecipherable.

Interesting process in my head:

-you’ve got to be fucking joking

– I didn’t sign up for Korea. Where even is Korea?

-hmm what’s the chance this is a small hiccup and fog will roll out soon

-the chances are low

– I’m a loser

-the changes are also low I’ll get to Shanghai in time to connect to Paris

-this is a fuck up

I want to smell croissant not the musty morning after humanity of the thirty in my cabin

-That breakfast was nice though; why are powdered eggs really quite pleasant at 30000 feet?

– That chanel lipstick I bought at duty-free is really staying put, I like it

– This is a fuck up

– That Indian attendant is handsome and very kind to me

– I’m in Korea for fucks sake, this is not my beautiful life

– I’m so happy to have bought a change of clothes; this new t-shirt feels so nice

– So you had two days in Paris. You might have to deal with one

– Can you deal with one?

– I can deal with one

-I wonder if there are any Modern Family episodes I haven’t seen yet?

Can’t change what happening right now. Can’t fight this. May as well bathe in it a while. My basic optimism is breaking through the fog.

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