Slack tide.  The tide is neither coming in or going out; it just is.

On a long plane trip I get to the point where I don’t want the trip to end; I want to stay on the plane forever.   To never get there.  To just be in limbo forever.  Then there’s nothing to worry about.  Everything just is.

Always expecting something good.  It doesn’t have the chance to go bad because it’s not yet happened.  Nothing but looking up.  So positive.  None of the worries of going to a new place and having to adjust.  Just expectation.

The feeling goes between “Oh my god I have seven fucking hours to go?” to “Oh my, there are only seven hours until I’m actually there.  Fuck.”

Or that moment just before leaving the bathroom.  Gone to the bathroom.  Washed hands.  Hair and makeup checked.  Everything is good.  There’s only possibility on the other side of the door.

It’s a chance to breathe; an opportunity to be alone.  A time when the only future to think of is the immediate future:  What will happen when the plane lands?  What will happen when I rejoin the party?

No one ever thinks of the mortgage payment when leaving a bathroom, right?  No need to think of one’s sick parents at home when on a long plane trip – can’t do anything from thousands of feet in the sky.

If only time could give us the respite of slack tide more often ….

[Yes, I did get the idea from "Slack Tide," the latest episode of Dexter.  No, I am not a serial killer.]

I swear.  True story.

Tags: foreign love, sexy?, words count

Categories: True Story.

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