How to Amuse Yourself in an Airport

Hello, friends! As I write this, I'm in a Starbucks down the street from my job, getting in a quick blog post before clocking in. As you read this, though, I've made the long trek down to the United States to visit a dear friend / buttface of mine. (Who just so happens to have a blog of her own.)

So as of now, obviously, I don't know what to expect from my journey, as I haven't started it yet. But what I do know is this--I have five hour layover scheduled in Minneapolis, which is sure to be one hell of a good time. (The sarcasm dripping from my fingertips is sure to fry my keyboard.) 

It's not my first layover, though, and it sure won't be my last. So here's a quick, simple, 8-step plan on how to amuse yourself in an airport:

Step 1: Find yourself a highly caffenated beverage.

The exact definition of this is obviously based on personal preferance, but I myself go for a double shot on ice from Starbucks. Gotta get them espresso shots in my system, because by this point I've already been up for a solid five hours and it's still only 9 AM. The alternative is, of course, to nap in your terminal, but sleep is for the WEAK. (And I'm going to nap in the air, anyway, so might as well focus on some productivity now.)

Step 2: Find yourself some prime outlet location.

This can be hard to find at times, but damn it, you're here for more than half a work day, so you have time to do some searching. Venture bravely outside the limits of your gate, and leave a trail of breadcrumbs behind you so you don't get lost.

Step 3: Make a list of everything you want to do.

This includes:

- Three (3) blog posts

- Seven (7) illustrations

- One (1) entire novel draft

And, if you have time, get a start on next year's taxes. (Me, overly ambitious? Noooo!)

Step 4: Check Twitter before you start.

I mean, you gotta let your loyal followers know what's going on.

Step 4.5: Update your Snapchat story.

It'll only exist for 24 hours, so make sure you spend a solid five minutes on that.

Step 4.75: Realize that you just spent, like, half of your time scrolling through social media and not actually doing any work.

My, time flies when you're procrastinating.

Step 5: FOCUS.

Put them earbuds in and tune the irritated travellers out!

Step 5.5: Okay, right after this song.

How does a bastard, orphan, son of a....

Step 5.75: Okay, right after this song.

Pardon me, are you Aaron Burr, sir?

Step 5.8: Okay but actually let's pick a different album because CLEARLY this isn't working in your favour.

You really shouldn't have picked such a catchy soundtrack, anyway.

Step 5.9: Realize that you won't actually hear the announcement on the PA when your flight starts boarding if you keep your headphones in.

You can tune out the busy crowds on your own, right?

Step 6: ACTUALLY GET SOME WORK DONE WHAAAAAAAT

Look at you, being productive! Look at you, making good use of your time! Look at you--

Step 7: Wait, is that your flight being called?

Huh. That went by faster than expected.

Step 8: Board your flight, settle in, and NAP.

You clearly earned it!

How do you guys amuse yourself during long waits, in airports or otherwise? Lemme know in the comments!

Until later,

- Justyne

Wangin' It, Take Two

So apparently, blogging in the airport means blogging on my phone for the first time. (At least for me.) So if there appears to be an abundance of typos / spelling and grammar errors, you can blame auto-correct. (No really.)

As of about 9:30 last night (again, going by Atlantic Time), I officially finished my first year of university. Exams, term papers...everything. Done. And now I find myself sitting in an airport, patiently awaiting my connecting flight to return home.

And I'll be honest, I have no idea what I'm doing.

I've always hated the looming pressure to decide what we're going to do for the rest of our lives; the expectation to have everything planned out, all the time, no exceptions. And the whole "back-up plan" thing, too, but you probably already know that.

So needless to say, I have been stressing a bit. I have no idea what I'm going to do this fall; wether I'm going to head back to school or stay home and bum around in my parents' basement while saving money to spend on who-knows-what.

And you know what? I SHOULDN'T be stressing. Nobody should be. There's nothing wrong with being unaware of the future, or with not planning out every little detail of our lives. We're not psychics, so why should we be expected to be?

My love for spontaneous-ness (shush, I can make up words if I want to make up words okay) shows through the way I write. I would rather just jump into a story than plan the whole thing out first; if I spend too much time planning it, the story bores me, and I lose the motivation to continue with it. If something changes or doesn't connect with something that happened before it, I can just go back and change it later, no big deal. That's what the editing process is for.

So if I decide that I want to change my character's name from "Amanda" to "Amelia" half way through a story, why can't I decide, "Hey, I wanna drive to Vancouver," as well?

Well, probably because I'm broke and don't know how to drive, but that's besides the point.

My point is that spontaneity (look, I used the actual word this time, happy?) is great. Making decisions on the fly and not over-thinking everything makes life more exciting. If we had everything planned out, and knew exactly what was going to happen, it'd be boring. Like when you know the ending of a book before you even read it; everything seems predictable and not nearly as exciting.

Now, let's see if I can figure out how to post this post.

Until later,

- Justyne

Skyward Dance (Micro-Fiction Monday)

When you’re ready, meet me above the clouds.

The wind wrapped itself around her body, brushing her hair against her skin and rustling the feathers behind her back. She flexed the muscles protruding from her back, stretching them out as far as they would reach. Her fingers twitched, feeling the wind that embraced her.

She took a breath and ran.

Her bare feet pounded against the dirt beneath her, splashing through puddles and crushing dead leaves. It was dark, but even so she could see the end of the earth fast approaching.

She stretched out her arms, shifted her wings. Her feet pushed off the ground for a final time, the weight of her body working with gravity to push her down, down towards the earth that was now far beneath her.

But gravity had never won against her before.

Within moments she was soaring, flying, swooping with the wind. Her wings carried her up, higher and higher, the wind growing colder and pricking her skin with goose bumps. She felt the moisture of the vapor as she entered the clouds; the things she had once imagined as fluffy cotton balls nothing more than water in disguise.

                

Thousands of stars, stretching out for miles and miles in all directions. The earth was far beneath her now; the air was thin and cold, her short breaths coming out in clouds of her own creation. The moon sparkled and shone in the sky—not as bright as the sun, but easier to look at.

Then there was him.

The moonlight accented his own wings as he circled around, riding the currents of air as he waited for her. He noticed her quickly and paused, allowing gravity to drop him towards her. He took her hands in his and the two shot upward, twirling and dipping and soaring together, as they performed their own skyward dance in the starlight.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne

Easy (Micro-Fiction Monday) (BEDS #8)

I hate the way they fly. The way they soar high in the sky, tumbling and twirling through the clouds. I hate them because I’m jealous—I’m willing to admit it. It’s not like it changes anything.

                

I can feel their eyes digging into my back, constantly, every day. Stop it! I want to scream. I’m just like you!

                

But I’m not. I used to be. I used to belong with them, I used to soar with them. But I don’t.

                

Not anymore.

                

Everything I used to love about the wings now angers me. The fluffy feathers that fall from the sky, tickling against my skin on contact. The speed at which young flyers zoom past my head, creating winds that send my hair flying. The white glow of their colour.

                

My parents won’t let me cut my wings off. They hide sharp objects carefully, now, thinking I won’t notice.

                

They’ll get better. Just have patience.

               

Easy for them to say, when they aren’t haunted by dark shadows in their mirrors. Easy for them to say, when their feathers aren’t rough and torn, scratching painfully against their skin. Easy for them to say, when the thing they love most is ripped away from them, with no explanation why.

                

Easy for them to say. They don’t know what it’s like for your wings to fall apart around you, turning from beautiful to hideous in the blink of an eye.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne