Here is the single entry from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes about…
…what it feels like to fly.
Flying is loud. I’m not sure if it’s the engines running or if there’s air being pumped into the cabin, but whatever it is, it makes it hard to hear the music through my headphones. And I want to hear the music very badly because I need something to take my mind off the enormous metal wings I can see out the window. If I look at them long I can’t help but think how heavy they must be and how it doesn’t make sense that they will be able to lift the plane. I know there’s science to explain why those wings will lift the plane, passengers, and all that luggage (and the carry-on the lady next to me has—it seemed full of bricks when she set it down on my foot). I remember that cartoon coyote who would step off a cliff, but not fall until he looked down. I try not to think about the plane suddenly realizing how absurd it is for it to be flying and, once looking down, falling coyote-like to the ground.
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