Ambien.plz

For all those interested, this is how you successfully pack for a trip abroad: First, pack a suitcase, preferably a heavy, cumbersome one with as much as you possibly can. Make sure that you make multiple attempts at filling the suitcase to the brim before finally zipping the damn thing shut; there should be a gratuitous amount of bumps, projections, and other odd shapes pressing against the fabric of the front of the bag. Second, weigh your bag. Third, notice that bags over 50lbs cost $173 to check and that if the bag is over 70lbs it will not be allowed on the plane. Fourth, read the digital read out of the scale to notice 64.4lbs; accompany this discovery with several curse words under your breath or a very vocal: "what do you mean it's above fifty pounds?!" Sixth, take everything, EVERYTHING, out and restart the process by cutting out half of your clothing. Congratulations, you are now ready to go abroad.

Shit. You forgot toiletries. Whatever, just buy them.

The Fear I am feeling right now, from the toilet mind you, is unsettling. (No, mother, I am not typing and pooping, I am sitting on top of the toilet because it's the quietest place in the house.) I capitalize "Fear" because this isn't simply an emotion or realization. It's an embodiment. Like some macabre puppet dancing above my head, the Fear drills into my head with headlines like, "Plane Loses Engines, Wreckage Disastrous in Atlantic," and "American Student Held Hostage in Eleven Hour Stand-off." I can't say the newsprint of the Fear is very comforting. Frankly, it's horrifying.

Grandpa says it's safer to fly than to drive. I have never believed him. Then again, he did try to get me to golf as a child and the dude that won today walked away with more than six figures.

Ambien and Wine force Grandpa to sound right.

Tomorrow when I am in the airport--for four GD hours because I just want to be sure I will make it--I will watch the people around me and wonder if they have the same little puppets around their heads and in their minds and if they have any tricks to make them go away. My guess is that no one will have thought about it as much as I do. Then again, maybe they have? Maybe people think about these things all the time and we never talk about them. There are not many things we talk about as a people though... Imagine if the first things we talked about were imaginary marionettes dangling above our heads and whispering things in our ears. Gross.

Also, I am really sorry, little blog, that I didn't write on you for three days. I was busy finishing up those loose ends in America, You know, like family, the boy, the friends. Just those little things that kinda need attention.

I have a playlist for the moments like this.  Right now it's lead off with the song Beautifully by Jay Brannan.  I suggest listening to it.  It helps the tears flow when they were going to anyway.  I call the playlist, "That Mood" ala Tony Spain.

(I am aware, painfully so, that I have been using italics and quotation marks interchangeably for this post.  I do not support my own actions and my lack of consistency, but I am far too tired to give a damn.  Apparently not too tired to take the time to point out something no one cares about.)

Spencer is calling on my phone.  He won't be able to do that for another 4 months.  He will hate it.  He's a talker.  :)

     A Haiku
Pulling strings to move
little limbs.  Jaw cracks wide; says:
Fear is natural.

Tomorrow I will experience birth by sleep in more ways than one.