The Airportline: Observations

Not everyone can handle the transition from a peaceful existence in nature to the tumbling movements and commotions of the big city. The male cow who moved in at the Airportline headquarter two days ago has tasted this reality. Wait a minute you say, there are no male cow's! Since I can't explain this to all people I will cut and paste my answer to Katharina's comment on my previous cow post here:
there is no place for logic or anatomically correct assumptions in this world. Well, the airportline world that is. But then again, in the real world, plastic cows does not leave the field to move to Amsterdam either. That's what makes airportline so appealing for the general cow population.

Now we can get back to the story. While I am busy scheduling interviews for my thesis, updating a somewhat confusing CV (a confusing life means a confusing CV) and dealing with insurance issues after a car crash I was involved in during the fall, the cow has fallen asleep on a Heineken can. I turn down the music to give him some peace. I look at him and see myself. That's almost as troubling as the insurance papers I'm trying to organize. Then I continue writing on my laptop, pushing down the keys a bit softer. It's me and a cow passed out from Heineken.

It's Sunday and M. Ward is singing 'Don't they love you in mysterious ways. You say yeah but this is now and that was then' in his song Post War against the sunshine outside. I sent a strange email to Miranda July on Friday, a result from a Thursday hangover. And yesterday I went to the Hague to play floorball instead of spending time in the sun. And after over two hours of fighting we lost in over time, and we sat in the changing room with empty eyes and Heineken beers afterwards. Then we drove back, and the sun was setting over the fields next to the highway.