To Continue

Posted by casey on May 24, 2012 in Escaping Home, For Your Funny Bone, Writing Nook

A month ago I was in Santa Barbara for the wedding of my long time best friend Brianne.  I few weeks ago I began telling you the tale of my travels getting there and I left you hanging with a “To Be Continued” that has yet to be continued.

Honestly?  I needed to recover after sharing with you that I was put in my place on the airplane by a whimsical teenager who more or less called me an old woman which instead of making me laugh because that is “so not true-like duh” it made me wince because it is “so true – like duh”.

After her innocent comment I decided maybe I should right her off and stick to silent book reading anyway.  When the poor man sat in the middle seat between us that became easier and I felt bad for not continuing to ask her questions but she was equally wrapped up in her book as well so all was well.  Yes I felt bad.  I also felt bad that I didn’t offer the man who took the middle seat my aisle seat.

Why?  I don’t know I have this weird thing ingrained in me that men aren’t supposed to have to sit in the middle kind of like how men are supposed to open doors etc.  It’s something weird that my brain automatically thinks “well that isn’t right”.  If I really dive into it, its probably because I can’t ever remember my Dad sitting in the middle when we traveled (why would he, that’s what kids are for) so it seems like it isn’t allowed or something. Who knows. Regardless I felt bad and I was this close to giving him my seat, but he was a small, young guy who fit well and I had to remind myself that this was my chance to be alone and comfy and read and do what I wanted and so no, I would not be overly nice today.  Rude, I know.

Thank the heavens I kept my seat.  Thank the oceans…and the deserts…and the prairies and everything magical in this world that I kept my seat because about 30 minutes into the flight as we were descending into our first of three “pick more people up but don’t get off the plans connections” it hit.

Motion sickness.

If you’ve known me since I was a kid, you know that you have never seen me ride a rollercoaster, play the spin your head on a bat game, go on a swing for a lengthy ride, or sit on a boat that isn’t cruising.  I sit in the front in the car or where I can see out the front window and I keep dramamine in my purse….except this time.

As the focus in my eyes began to shift and distort and the floaty feeling my head expanded to my stomach I spent the next hour with my head buried into my tray table.  Talk about sanitary.  Yes, I looked like a turtle.  Eyes squeezed closed, shoulders hunched over enough to cram my head on top on my arms on that nasty plastic “table” so that I could try and utilize my best “get over being motion sickness trick” and tune out the world to pass out.  The only problem is I can’t sleep on planes.

And then we descended to pick up more passengers.
And then we took off again.
And then we descended through turbulence to pick up more passengers.
And then we took off again.

With every bump and every taxi I swear to you I looked at that oh so tiny white “in case you are that idiot that has to throw up next to the poor people sitting by you bag” as if it was my only lifeline.  As soon as I would lock eyes with it I would quickly flick my eyes in another direction as if to not tempt myself.

Motion sickness.

If I actually thought I could make myself sick and feel better I would have gone to the restroom.  But my body/mind has this severe aversion to sorry, I have to say it, puking so I knew I could take out that bag and all it would do is send the passengers next to me in a “please don’t puke on me” panic because I wouldn’t be doing anything.

This also turned me into that bitchy seat-mate who wouldn’t so much as half smile at her fellow seat-mates as if I was too busy to have common courtesy or care that the chick next to me brought her yapping Yorkie on so she could try and talk about the funeral she just went to the whole time.  All while I am trying to kindly say, “I get it, I used to fly with my dog but for the love of God stop talking to me or I might lose my breakfast all over you and the mutt.”

Seven hours of flying…sick.
And then we landed.
And then I was supposed to get up and walk off the plane as if all was great.

Motion Sickness

(This post is pictureless due to me trying not to vomit by entire flight. Sorry.  I am also apologizing for “keeping you on the edge of your seat” but not in a good way because you are terrified that at any moment I am going to write about the details of vomiting.  Suspense is suspense right?)

In case you missed the first part of this tale, let me guide you…

The Travel Began, I was Out of Practice and then Put in My Place

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