your mind: not your own

So anyway I was hanging around the Carlton Borders travel section last fri nite trying to pick up lonely international students but not having much luck. I had a book in my hand that I was going to buy, Facing Love Addiction because my counsellors (I have 5) told me to get it. Apparently I am addicted to love -> I would like to think not so much in a poor dead Robert Palmer way, but in a Kim Gordon Ciccone Youth CD-booth with the Vietnam war footage background way.

I’m learning all the time, sitting here with my seatguru floor plans for whatever plane it is I’m getting on late monday night. I had a list of the preferred seats I wanted, but on the bigger jet (first leg) they have those seats ‘blocked out’ — and apparently I have to request a certain seat to cope with a certain physical condition at the time of booking the flight at the travel agent.

As mentioned before, my physical condition is ‘addicted to love’, so naturally I want to sit near the flight attendants. I got the seat I wanted for the 2nd leg because it’s a smaller plane. I just told them I sometimes get leg cramps, but I reckon the telephone operator could dig where I was coming from.

I guess it’s a combination of the uniforms, the authority, the exclusivity, the professional smiles, the constantly being given food and beverages plus the lingering possibility of dying horribly that dials me to a heightened state of readiness and partiality to the women of this one particular occupation. I haven’t told my counsellors about it yet though. Maybe I will get lucky, or at the very least – not burn to death, and near the middle – not spill hot coffee on myself.