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Tomorrow we fly to comic-con in San Diego. Ahhhh!
Sorry, but another flight after only two days home is sort of stressful.
There are bats outside my office windows. Bats swirling, turning, diving, eating insects so small that I can’t even see them in the soft, blue, summer dusk. Watching them flutter across the sky reminds me of butterflies and swallows, and neither. They are just bats.
We’re packed. Almost. We got to use the uber shower in the uber bathroom. That was good. I’m printing off the last forty or so pages of JASON to take with in case I actually calm down enough to work. I usually work very well on the plane, but I didn’t do so well on the way to Tulsa.
Debbie Militello and her husband, Carl, were on the same flight as us. It was a happy accident. We got to visit while our flight kept getting delayed. Delayed for about an hour when it was all done. Southwest doesn’t have assigned seating. So by the time Charles, Jon, and I got on the plan there were no seats together for Jon and myself. He is my comfort object, I mean what other man will let me leave nail imprints in his thigh or hand by the time we land?
Debbie and Carl gave up their seats together for us, for me. I didn’t want to take them. Surely I’m a bigger grown up than this, right? But Debbie insisted and together we can be very much like the Warner Brother’s gophers. “After you.” “No, after you.” “I insist, after you.”
Once upon a time Debbie went with me to conventions. She is the only friend to see me totally loose it on a plan. Even Jon hasn’t seen me this bad. I had a full blown panic attack once on a plane with Debbie. The kind of panic that might get me kicked off a plane now with the new regulations. Debbie talked me down and into our seats. I have gotten much better about flying, but she remembered. She’s my friend.
So, thanks to Debbie and Carl, Jon and I got to sit together on the way to Tulsa. But by the time we got seated I’d panicked, convinced I would have to try to fly alone. So instead of reading, or working, I had to have Jon talk to me. About what? About anything. When I get this far gone, it doesn’t matter really. He talked about cars, about weapons, about television, about . . . anything. I listened, retained almost none of it, but for the few minutes he said it, I’d ask questions. I really was listening, but it was like none of it could go onto long term memory for that trip. Long term memory was off line. Short term was fine, but that was it. I just needed a comforting voice, and someone to hold onto.
I’m trying to be braver than that tonight. I’m trying to steal myself to be braver than that tomorrow. No panicking. That is the rule. But, damn, there are times when that is a very hard rule to keep.