So I managed to get myself finally to JFK and now I'm waiting in a badly lit hall, investigating the pattern of the gray carpet. I don't know whether to think it's just painful for my eyes or actually mesmerizing, at least the carpet is interesting enough for me to hold my attention, and I catch myself staring at it way too long. The waiting area is filled with too many people that don't want to sit next to each other on blue faux leather chairs, all looking in their papers or on their watches to see if it's boarding time yet. Let's face it, boarding planes is boring. It's just about my least favorite thing to do in the world. I am not a patient person and waiting is therefor an absolute torture for me. Just put me in a room and let me wait for "something" and I would be terrifically bored. Sometimes it is good to be bored, people who say they are never bored, try desperately to be cool and are probably living the uttermost passion-less lives themselves. Boredom makes you think, and thinking gets me in a perfect creative process. When I am too busy I don't really think too much. That's why I need these little torture waiting areas. It makes me think about more fun times, it takes me back on a fantastical voyage in my mind to places I don't think too often about or about people I forgot. It brings me back to the places I walked by without actually noticing where or what I was walking past. This happens not so often, I tend to really soak in my surroundings when I stroll around. But sometimes, when I would get too hung over or have a terrific come down of substances, I would float instead of stroll, and wouldn't pay too much attention to the people in the street or the nice little shops. In that state it is almost like you are wearing an invisibility cloak, a magical cape that gives you a temporary superpower of being unnoticed. Right now, in the waiting room I look around and I notice it again, that no one really observes anyone. I am in my cloak feeling comfortably numb and unseen. It is the perfect time to recapitulate the last couple of weeks I spent in the most visited city of never land, New York. I feel stressed and tired, and I look at my hands trembling, probably because of a sugar low or because I haven't smoked a cigarette for a couple 'o hours. That little energy I had left before I came here has been ridiculously sucked out of me, and the only thing on my mind now is to get these heavy bags on the plane, and leave to my home-icidal destination Amsterdam, which I sure hope is not going to be my Final Destination - Did you see that movie? I'm flying back to one hundred percent reality, I think. This short trip, where I spent my most of my days in the Lower East Side, has been a four week delirium, filled with non-stop skulduggery, switching back and forth between classics such as "Girl, Interrupted" and "Single White Female". It's been a continuous fury where I ended up feeling wonderfully lost, and, with an ironic cherry on top; literally losing everything - from my handbag, passport, money, bank cards and two phones - to losing my forceful beating heart, morals, restrictions and the false hope for things to get better. I came here with Great expectations and a full blown desire for life, only to end up living in chaos, self destruction and borderline insanity. I have to hurry, the gates are open and "we are now boarding".
To be continued.
