By Jen Pastiloff
I’m on the plane. I have Game of Thrones on in front of me, paused on Jaime Lannister looking at the sea, mid-sentence, and the back of Cersei’s head, post-haircut. If you have not seen it or don’t watch it, I don’t know what to tell you.
I have seen this episode before. I caved about six weeks ago and started watching (7 years in, I know, I know) and I didn’t stop until I was up to date. You should’ve seen me in London, hiding under the covers, trying to download season 6 damn it, or in Tuscany telling my retreat peeps I was “going off for a nap.” Lies! All lies! I was watching GOT. So yea, I have seen this one. Season 7 Episode 1: Dragonstone. I was sitting in front of the fake fireplace at my rented apartment in Putney when I first saw it. (I will now imagine moments of my life according to where I was when I saw each episode.)
And here on the plane there are no subtitles so thankfully I have seen this one or I would be pissed because they all sound like they are underwater, with faint English accents, but underwater. Why doesn’t everything have subtitles always? What kind of crock of shit is this? I demand a do-over! Give me better ears or give me subtitles! All. The Time.
I said I was going to start writing more. Taking down notes and details and memories and moments but I didn’t. I am on the plane after ten days away. I first went to New York (wrote about that, see last blog) where I met with my agent to celebrate my book getting sold. I took her and one of my childhood best friends to see Tiny Beautiful Things at the Public Theatre and I sobbed my face off. Which is weird because I really don’t cry because: meds. But there I was, crying like a baby. Along with the rest of the (packed) audience. I tried to look at my Adriann, my agent, but she was all nope, not making eye contact, because she too was weepy af.
I needed a witness. Oh my God, can you believe this? Look how snotty I am. It’s like when you witness great art or something so moving, a perfect sunset- I don’t know- something, where you need someone else to remind you that you aren’t making it up or that the beauty won’t kill you or that you aren’t crazy for thinking it is THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THING ON FUCKING PLANET EARTH.