I haven't written anything in so long that I was starting to wonder if my fingers would remember how to actually type on a keyboard.
I've really been slacking at this whole writing thing lately. It's not for lack of desire, truly. It's mostly a complete lack of time, combined with the fact that once I become stationary at night, there's not a whole lot that is going to change that.
I've had my hands fuller than normal these past few months with my homeschooler. It's mostly good in that we are figuring out why things have always been harder for him, addressing them. His general situation is vastly improved...but it also means that I've been fully immersed in that. There's not a whole lot of time left for me to just sit long enough to write anything down.
You all should see the half composed posts that are floating around in my head, though. They're pretty fucking amazing.
I went to Atlanta this past weekend for the Warrior Mom Conference and while I absolutely plan to write about that entire experience at some point, I know that I'm not ready to do that yet. I'm still processing all the sessions and speakers, still speechless about meeting all the people who'd only lived in my computer before last Thursday. That, and I'm still not fully recovered from the asthma attack I totally had Saturday night that left me lying on the bathroom floor with the shower running so I didn't die.
Note to self: YOU ARE ALLERGIC TO THE ENTIRE STATE OF GEORGIA AND IF YOU EVER GO THERE AGAIN, TAKE ALL YOUR DAMNED MEDICATION WITH YOU JUST IN CASE.
Yeah, that one needed to be in all caps.
I'll get there. I have some profound things to say about the whole experience, some really important information to relay to you all, some important healing I did for myself. All that jazz. And I'll get there. Just not today.
Today, though, since we're here, do you want to read about flying?
Up to you, I suppose, but I'm writing it either way.
I'm terrified of flying. Like scared to death.
I really should be medicated but the truth is that ativan knocks me flat out for too long, longer than the flight lasts and no one wants to drag my half conscious ass anywhere. So, I don't take it. I mean it would help, but I consider my not taking it to be a community service to those around me.
Like, I cannot be held responsible for the things I do or say level of community service.
So, instead I drink.
I know, I know, I know.
It's a really shitty coping mechanism. I'm aware. I'm doing it anyway because without it (or the threat of an impending trip to an out of state ER...more on that in a later post, I am sure), there's no way I'm getting on a plane.
All the nope.
I have raging anxiety issues and am a next level control freak. I drive everywhere. For real, my husband has a chauffeur. He doesn't mind, I get to feel like I have some semblance of control over my fate. It works.
So then you can imagine that flying scares the shit out of me.
It scares me because I don't understand it.
I can explain all the physics involved, sure. I can tell you all you'd need to know about lift and thrust and speed. But none of it holds any weight in my head when the metal tube accelerates enough for the front wheels to lift off and I'm just hoping hoping hoping that science isn't all some terrible lie we've been told while we were paying extra to check a bag.
For my life long love of all things science, I'm still totally convinced that flying is magic.
This is the part where I like to remind people that anxiety and fear of flying isn't rational and that I'm fully aware of the fact that it is not rational and that fear and anxiety aren't rational, so you can point out the fact that I'm far more likely to die on the highway on the way to the airport than I am in the plane, and it won't matter. Not even a little bit.
I am not to be reasoned with.
My flight to Atlanta was early-ish. I had to be at the airport by 9am or so. You'd think that would be too early to drink, but NOPE.
I had a bloody mary with an extra shot of vodka before I got on the plane, which ended up costing more than my food did but I was willing to accept that as a small price to pay for my ability to walk down the ramp and get into the flying metal death trap.
I texted a friend waiting for me on the other end as I was waiting for the check. She knows of my issues. Likes me anyway. The waitress was taking her time getting the check to me and the panic started to set in a little bit, because I knew that I had to go to the bathroom at least three more times before I got on the plane because this digestive system and anxiety do not play nicely together.
No lie, this is the text I sent her.
I'm amazed that people put up with me.
When I got on the plane, I was nervous enough. Because have you met me?
They serve booze on planes for people like me.
And they have bulk discounts.
Also for people like me.
Then a mom with three small kids slid into the row behind me, and I knew that I had to keep my shit together at least marginally because there were kids right there. I can compose myself like a boss when there are children present. When there aren't....well....
The kids did great on the flight, SO MUCH BETTER than the obnoxious woman next to me. Although, truth be told, I think the airplane gods put her beside me on purpose so that I'd be so annoyed that I wouldn't even notice how worried I was that we were going to die.
It worked pretty well.
The best part about that flight was that I was reading Luvvie Ajayi's new book I'm Judging You, and I totally was. If you haven't read it yet, please go get it.
We lived, obvs. I got off the plane and did the things I was supposed to do and didn't make too much of an ass out of myself over the weekend, although my assessment is just that and could totally be wrong and skewed. So, more precisely, no one told me that I was being an ass. So there's that.
I did get this too.
I've wanted this tattoo for YEARS. My name means "Warrior Woman". My superhero patronus is Wonder Woman. I was at the Warrior Mom conference. So, basically the stars aligned and I had no choice in the matter.
I'm madly in love with it.
I love it even more after some rando dude in the airport told me that while he "loved" my tattoo, it was too big and shouldn't be on my arm.
I didn't realize your opinion meant shit.
OH THAT'S RIGHT IT DOESN'T
***twirls fast pew pew pew***
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