Meta…physical?

The plane is finally leaving. Almost an hour delayed, but not a single message sent to my phone. Jet star really is that bad…well, not really, but it is annoying.

This trip home was a true whirlwind. I feel as if nothing and everything was achieved all at once. Ultimately, I was here to witness the end of an artist exchange. Well, I’d like to view it as the first chapter, and hope it’s an opportunity that could continue.

Nonetheless, it’s impossible to not be disappointed, my pessimism can’t ever truly be escaped. Once again, I saw merely a handful of friends (though everyone did have the opportunity to see me, I even posted it on Instagram in hopes of seeing some friendly faces), and I am now completely and utterly overwhelmed by the past, present, and future.

The ouroboric pattern of anxiety. I am full of a thumping heart, a bitten lip, and a brain that’s reentered what I call “turbo mode.”

My boyfriend and I are seated on the plane, I can feel our leg hairs intertwined. It’s too hot to hold hands, but I’m comforted having him there, and I hope he’s comforted by me too.

He keeps peeping over to see me typing away at my phone, whilst he taps his pixels and colours in an image. I wonder if his brain is also in turbo right now, after all, we are moments away from taking off, as we currently pace down the runway.

Pause. The plane is preparing for its final grounded sprint before we break into the air. I managed to score the window seat, but all I see is the wing of the plane. I always book crap seats for optimal cloud photos. I feel guilty for claiming the window seat again, if there wasn’t someone else in our seated group I would have definitely put Sam in the window seat, but the traditional plane chaos placed me here.

The plane is now turning, preparing us to be off ground, and over the ocean. It annoys me that the window requires me to slightly twist my neck backwards. The twist pull the anxiety closer to the back of my throat, warning that given the right amount of pressure, it would induce a vomit (surely there’s a more elegant word, but also, why be elegant when it’s maybe the most feral feeling).

And we are off … sprinting. Usually I cry at this point, can’t. My buttocks is slightly off the seat, as we angle sharply into the clouds.

…

It’s now 12.40am the following evening (or should I say morning?). I’ve cracked my medication out of its protective casing, as I prepare myself for another nights sleep. I know for certain that I abruptly stopped tapping away at my phone the moment we entered the clouds. As the sun set…maybe we don’t need a written description, here, have an image instead.

I had intended on writing this post about the chaos that unfurls across the globe, and the evil meta overlords, and the annoyance that I should consciously make the decision to leave.

Admittedly, I still scrolled the ‘gram today, and made no further deductions on the topic of leaving the meta verse.

Instead, I find myself longing for past social media, where it felt like an escape from the real world, opposed to reinforcing the world that we currently live in. I desire tumblr, in its heyday, without the demons that we so openly shared (ie. eating disorders and self harm).

I wonder if anyone will ever read this, probably not, but in a weird way that comforts me.