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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

I've an hour and a half to go until I leave the house to make the long trek to the airport. Long trek? Short walk to bus stop, bus to Donnybrook, on to Air Coach, stare out window while panic and denial set in with equal force. Woo! Bring it on.

But I've still got an hour and a half. I can't think of anything to do. I've looked at the internet: there's nothing there. Everyone in the world is at work. Television is unbearable. I only have the urge to listen to one song, and it makes me cry, so I'm not going to indulge myself. Lord, I'm tense.

I used to have this fantasy scenario where I'd go to bed one night, someone would knock me unconscious in a medicated manner (rather than simply twatting me over the head, you understand), I'd be put on a plane, flown to Australia (I'd like to go to Australia) and I'd wake up in another bed on the other side of the world without having to worry about all the flying malarky in between. It'd be so brilliant.

I'm not as freaked as I used to be about flying, I'm really surprised how well I've come on in a short space of time, it's all mind over matter etc, but it's got a TREMENDOUS amount to do with the valium. It really does. Valium plus certain state of mind equals easy flying for Shazzle. So now the worst part of the flying process for me is this bit - the moment I wake up on the day of the flight right up until 15 minutes before boarding when I get to take the valium and start breathing regularly again.

I'm going to go listen to Joni Mitchell, and shriek along in a melodious manner. It'll annoy the cat no end, but that just can't be helped.

This entry was posted on 24 November 2004 at 1:05 pm. 0 comments

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