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.