On Airlane Infrarction of the Arctic Emotion

It's an odd moment to realise. The process of constructing enough lies in an attempt to save another is always going to hurt yourself, but somehow I have developed such a personality that I don't mind the damage. A result of years of beatings and thrashings finally to numbness. I think this is how the clarity has come to settle. Having edged away from the last bit of flogging, I've finally cleared through the echoes and dust and managed to carve out a spot for myself. People often say that you cannot recreate yourself or life, and maybe I'm a little farther behind on such things, but still here I am, a different person to 20 different people, new stories and ways of speaking. I'm almost proud of the amount of creativity involved, the deftness at which I can easily just ghost and give up one shell for the next. I've woven a million times these robes and masks, and they are becoming more and more complex. A menagerie nearly enough but without the cages. I have my own space where I alone exist and then the areas where all the costumes take their chance at the stage.
I think that not merging groups of friends was wisest, just streaming between them as I was always forced to do. I'm glad to have had this small touch of experience for the moment, now that I notice exactly what it is I've become, what I am yet to be. Very interesting to know that I was never very far off.

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Enough of this, I shan't be sentimental because people expect me to feel guilty for my lack of emotional involvement. This especially holds true when I have merely 30 some odd hours til departure to the states. Well, that and I just saw an amazing concert headlined by Franz Ferdinand. Sure, they're spectacular and even gave away free singles on vinyl, but the highlight for me was the Ramonesish openers Kaiser Chiefs. Pure brilliance in terms of indie rock with an infusion of old school punk. I was blown away, literally, but that could have been the 5 beers and a ew cloves that I relished as my last thrill prior to returning to the hell that is America.
Unfortunately this entails a great deal of stress, not only on the home front, but also on the airline vs. my ego front. I don't much like being thought a terrorist, and I sure as hell would like an id card saying I'm not so that I could avoid getting the security wand up my freshly molested naughty bits. Alas, I also must endure a cumulative 12 hours of flight time in crap-class seating, ie. a small saet not wide enough for my shoulders and without the leg room I so desperately need. That and there's always the first-time flyer that can't shut up for the duration of the shite movie. Go figure.
But as always I shall plod on and wake up early tomorrow in order to do laundry and prepare for my last huzzah at the movies with the few "aquaintances" I have here. Another sodding day in which I am forced to feel completely crap and yet don't. Odd.
Cheers.