Leaving On A Jet Plane

I wrote this while sitting in the airport but I only got round to putting it online now so I'm just gonna still write it in the present tense. It's also my first blog entry EVER so be nice to me! *deep breath* Here goes...


So here I am, sitting in the Departures Lounge on my tobler. Due to my inbred paranoia (sound, Dad) and overactive imagination that predicts every possible occurrence apart from the most straightforward scenario, I've arrived in the lunge a full hour and a half too early. Verging on dangerously late, my dad would call it. The bloody Fear even prevented me having a happy wander around the MAC department and, importantly, the food shops - I better be getting fed on the plane!


Having practised the lingo earlier in Starbucks (tall skinny latte please) and having had the banter with the air hostess at check in in the hopes that she wouldn't notice my extra kilo (she didn't!), I'm now free to goggle at the melting pot of cultures in the cattle hold that is the US departures lounge. In one corner, a boy in a green farmer's cap is playing some diddley-aye on a harmonica to scattered applause. Gorgeously tanned American girls (beyotches) are sporting bright pink Trinity hoodies (touristy beyotches) and gossiping. There are people in groups and alone, but there are few who are indulging themselves, like me, in the wonderfully free activity of people watching. I'm not getting withdrawl symptoms from Facebook yet but happily I've found a socially acceptable means of stalking. While it may not be as exciting as creeping on your friend's friend's neighbour who went to Salou last week (not me *shifty eyes*) this old fashioned hobby retains its air of mystery, allowing me to make up stories and backgrounds for my fellow travellers.


The three women sitting across from me are 3 generations of the same family, I reckon, and came to Ireland either sightseeing or ancestor tracing. Then there's the young American backpackers on my other side. These guys aren't as scruffy as their European (cough Irish) (cough my brother) counterparts, but they look like they enjoyed imbibing the local beverages last night in the same way as my brother (cough all Irish) does.


I'm surprising not nervous at all. It was more embarrassing than upsetting leaving the family earlier, as they plonked themselves just outside the security entrance and waved and shouted every time I came into view. I do have to admit, however, that a few tears were shed leaving the boyfriend. He's been wonderful over the last while and I'm really going to miss him :(


The flight is being called! Must go, will catch up with everyone from the other side of the Atlantic - that is the right ocean, isn't it?