her journal

whole row to myself

Is there any way I am so lucky as to have the whole row to myself on this overnight flight from Kennedy to Copenhagen?

The cartoon passengers in the Norwegian Air safety video are so white as to arouse my suspicion. Also the oxygen masks in premium seats reportedly require some additional action, some pulling of a cord, that those for economy seats do not. Suffocate the rich? Interesting.

The fat and pale analog humans drinking Coca Cola at eleven thirty at night across the aisle are staring as I swallow the Unisom recommended by my gynecologist in lieu of the Ambien prescription I wanted and the half a Klonopin I found among the dregs of some party past and later on learned how to spell.

Ah, here are my rowmates.

Too bad for me.

Perhaps they will be more tolerable for whatever disposition makes them almost unable to make a flight.

what brings you to denmark

the first man I encounter says, what brings you to Denmark?

and I say, I don’t know.

trying to find myself.

he says, here you are.

then we talk some about four days… Berlin… visas… ninety days… Schengen…

he says, you’ll be fine. I hope you find what it is you seek, and then he stamps my passport.

absentee host deepak

My absentee host Deepak is quite responsive via text but I am otherwise, on reflection, unsatisfied. The most unforgivable thing — the thing least forgivable! — is the point, moments ago, at which the toilet paper ran out, with no replacement stock in evidence anywhere. I mean, that’s not great as a conflict between flatmates, even, but to put a paying guest in that situation isn’t okay. Now I guess there is an onus to be a white lady on the internet, or find something else at which to point my entrenched entitlement and discontent.

jøde and reading lamp

Today I went back to the café where I made my one Danish friend the last time I was here, an old hippie who called me out right away as jøde because he himself is, too, and there he was, waiting to hug me good and tell me to come back on Friday, by which time he’ll be through with the ministry of food health or whatever they call it here and ready to ping-pong — his verb—with me about what I might do from now onward. The Danish aren’t particularly open-minded to what is known as networking, he says, for they miss the point that to let someone new into a circle is to one’s own benefit, too. The Germans, he says, will be different.

Now it is six minutes ’til ten at night and I am only just beginning to need a reading lamp to write by, which really could be called a writing lamp if not for the crushing creative imperative. Northern Europe in May, as advertised.

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