The more I fly, the less I get done on planes. I used to read up on current events, finish up all the mid-19^th century novels floating around the living room. I'd write a card to my grandparents, then fill out all 20 postcards that I dutifully send from every adventure. Of course, I always send them from home, it's cheaper and more reliable. I used to think about my to-do list, make a grocery list, write a cover letter, stare at my resume.

But lately, I stick in my industrial orange ear plugs, pop some Benadryl and Dramamine, down a mini-bottle of Sutter Home Cabernet or two, and enjoy the blackout. No screaming kids, no yelling, no complaining, no thinking. It's no place, no time, no reason or rhyme. Not even a french mime. Just clouds and green circles of crops, and little rivers no one can even reach by jeep. I feel all that, I don't see it. In my mind is a confusing stew of celebrities coming over for a sandwich, a talking bunny, soothsayer honey bees, trying out for the high school volley ball team--whatever strange labyrinths the medications and the alcohol wish to wander.

Oddly, a 3-hour flight can seem longer than a 13-hour one to me. I can't explain that one.

When I land, I always try to track down my husband, but he's always re-booking irate people or pulling away the ones too drunk to board. Amateurs. You don't swallow any drugs or alcohol until you're ready to board. It times just right that it doesn't hit until you're pulling up into the air. Don't pull tantrums at the gate. Have dreamy sleep in the sky.

I Did Not Start That Fire

I did not start that fire, but I roasted marshmallows in its sunny flames. I didn't start the rumor, but I enjoyed telling it to others. I didn't lie, but I didn't offer you the truth. I didn't start the endeavor, and I'm not going to stop it either.

I did not start that fire, but I'll push you in and say you tripped. You are famously clumsy, everyone will believe me.

I did not start that fire. Wait, maybe I did--just so I could rush in and save you. I've always wanted to be a hero, even if it was only for 10 seconds on the local evening news.

I did not start that fire, but I'll mischievously fan its flames. I like chaos. I like to see men panic, all their fake bravado draining away fast like the blood flows from a big boar hung up on a hook after the slaughter. Oh, I like fires. They say they are necessary, cleansing, very healthy.

Everyone is very scared of flames, of snakes, of evil sneaking up on them, unaware, while they are scrubbing the sink. That's a funny image, thinking you have won the war on entropy when the fire--my fire--gets you by surprise.