A plane ride can spark a lot of feelings and thoughts. And there is none more prevalent, for me, than boredom. Boredom is, to put it lightly, hellacious. It always has been that way for me. When you ask my dad about me, one of the first things he says is, “She can really entertain herself.”
Flash forward a couple of decades and you’ll find me sitting in a window seat. Craning my neck to see a glimpse of the ground through the thick clouds. My knee bumps up and down to a rhythm only I hear. And the person next to me is getting considerably agitated that I need yet another gimmick of entertainment from my carry on in front of me. So, what to do? The flashes of my ipad no longer tantalize me. And I’m out of snacks.
I begin to fantasize about what I would like to do: March up and down the aisles with importance, gossip with the flight attendants, and eat sodium packed travel size snacks until I’m round from bloating. I am observant enough to know that this behavior would not fly for the other people in economy class. So I begin to draw. I’m not a drawer. Dialogue is usually my thing. But when you want to move in to action its best to satiate that with images of action. Hence, wide eyed, stick armed alter ego came out to play. And by the look of it, she has a bit of a Napoleon complex.