I'm writing this in the plane.
You come adrift from the support system of home/job/cellmate, and tumble happily into the new support system of the airline, with its food, films and waves of booze. You're installed in your own wee adjustable pod/bed, fussed over by cabin crew. For some reason, each seat has an airbag. In a plane? WTF!
Letting go, there's an endorphin rush and feelings of gratitude, benevolence. Of course, from the airline's point of view it's just business. Like a prostitute, they're faking it. But that's beside the point. My gratitude is emotional, not rational, and it's toward the universe, not a business.
If it's toward any individuals, it's probably to the pension plan, who despite being a massive pain will probably bung me part or all of the airfare; and to the cellmate, who despite our many faults has stuck with the unconventional relationship that is our emotional home base. Our elastic ties allow her to head west to Europe, stopping in Asia to work. Meanwhile I head east to meet her, but via North America. When we come together next month, we'll slot into our flawed approximation of teamwork. Then after a week in Bavaria, we split again - she back home, and I to the old country.
I know this trip is an indulgence, an environmental sin, and a waste of money, but I have no other vices and I deserve one.
I'm blootered, by my standards at least. I may have to delete this in the morning, but for now I'll catch up on old episodes of Big Bang Theory until I fall into a drunken sleep.
Well everything has to balance up, and after a short nap you wake to a dose of reality. The crew have turned off the lights and are nattering behind a curtain. Initially they were all smiles and "would you like some more champagne?", now it's "sorry, we've run out of potato chips". The booze has worn off, everything smells of toilet, and you realize you're in a flying latrine. The movies are old and awful - the least boring one on offer is The Sound Of Music!
And the flight attendants on this airline are not exactly Singapore standard. Some are nearly as old as Albert, obviously chosen for their work ethic rather than physical grace, which is kind of as it should be I suppose.