Cocoon

Sometimes, I need a cocoon. I find that enjoy myself stuck in plane flights lasting longer than 16 hours. I don't like short flights. They make me feel like one of those badly-folded paper airplanes that come down to earth too soon.

I like the fact that I can do my own thing and not have to worry about what is happening for a while. Just eat. Drink a lot of juice — apple and tomato especially — sample wines, drink coffee. Get up, stroll around, visit the toilet, hang out at the back of the plane where the savvier flyers go to do their workouts.

Yes, I fly cattle class if I do fly. I feel painfully extravagant if I can stretch my legs while remaining seated. I am a plebeian. I like airline food. I like airline blankets.

(I also like small rooms where I have just enough space to stretch out, where all my belongings are not more than a lazy step away. I feel lost in large bathrooms. Maybe it's because there are more places for monsters to hide.)

I always get off planes feeling refreshed. I have had my sleep, watched my movies, done my readings. I have been in control of my schedule, I have negotiated with the inflight professionals. I am content.