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Dreadful Nonsense

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

I got on a plane today. My routine for getting on planes used to go like this:

1. Two weeks beforehand, begin to have recurring nightmares about plane crashes, experiencing them both from on the ground and on the plane (mental note: Never watch Flight 93).
2. One week beforehand, lose the ability to sleep. Begin to halluicinate during the day about plane crashes.
3. Two days beforehand, write up will.
4. One day beforehand, text everyone I know/love/stroke to tell them that I know/love/want to stroke them. Post flight details on blog so that everyone could mourn my loss when they realised that, yes, I was on that flight.
5. On the day: put ribbons around my suitcase, for luck.
6. On the day: put on lucky bracelets.
7. On the day: put on lucky necklace.
8. Find and wear Dad's signet ring.
9. Pray.
10. Get to airport. Panic. Have cigarette, even if I don't smoke. Feel sick. Panic.
11. Check in.
12. Go straight to gate, even if I'm there about 6 hours too early.
13. Pace.
14. Go to bathroom.
15. Pace.
17. Go to bathroom.
18. Repeat steps 13 - 17 until blue in the face.
19. Speak to Little Sister Edel on the telephone, who would tell me everything was fine, and then end her phone calls with a note of affection which always convinced me that YES I AM DEFINITELY ABOUT TO DIE.
20. Take valium.
21. Calm the fuck down.
22. Go to bathroom.
23. Board plane.
24. Cry.
25. Take off.
26. Count five minutes in my head without opening my eyes while crying.
27. Open my eyes.
28. Cry.

It's hard work.

So today, I got on a plane, and I skipped almost all of those steps. Yes, I tied some lucky ribbons on my suitcase, but I didn't wear the lucy bracelet or necklace or ring. I didn't ring Little Sister Edel. I didn't have a cigarette. I didn't post on the blog, and most importantly I DIDN'T CRY.

I did have valium though. Fuck, what do you take me for?


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