I’ve been visiting Seattle nearly everyday, recently. I sit at my computer desk chair with legs bent 90 degrees at the knee for about as long as it takes to fly to Washington. The effectiveness of the voluminous void underneath the desk drawer, which is supposed to provide plenty of legroom, has been compromised by the presence of a storage box of school papers and a stack of folders and notebooks. The result is that my legs have few position options and most possibilities involve an unforgiving straight edge or corner pressing against a portion of my limb(s). It’s like the tray table is forever in the ‘in use’ position because the flight attendants aren’t coming round to collect the lasagna dish that’s sitting on top of it, believing it to be too soon to walk up to seat 24E with trash bag in hand because I haven’t even peeled the foil top away yet. “No, lady, it’s actually that I lost my appetite when I caught scent of what was being passed off as food. I don’t want this. I’m ready to throw it entirely away so that I can return the tray table to its upright position and allow my legs to be a fraction less confined.”

It’s unhealthy. Blood flow is impeded, especially at the areas where unforgiving straight edges press against my thigh or calf. I imagine small blood clots forming in the wide rivers that are my large veins, little pebble clots giddily being carried by the current into ever smaller veins and capillaries, finally getting stuck in the narrowest paths in my brain, causing strokes and all sorts of fun. Maybe death will take me in sleep. As I dream of having a stroke I will actually have one. Reality and dream will at long last merge in an unspeakable and glorious fusion.