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Phenomenology
Mar. 15th, 2005 09:10 amThis is what it´s like to be me for the 24 hours before I have to get on an airplane.
1. Petíte cognitive dissonance episodes where my unconscious sabotages projects related to the impending voyage (i.e. packing, putting passport somewhere I will be able to locate it, etc.)
2. Interjecting into unrelated conversations at random moments "I hate flying" or "I really don't want to fly tomorrow."
3. "What if there is a bag of weed that somehow made its way into my suicase? What if there is an old joint rolling around in the duffel bag lining and the dogs will smell it?"
4. Where the fuck is the passport???
5. Body understands that I don't WANT to fly and thoughtfully starts manifesting symptoms of a cold, flu or sinus infection.
6. Explaining to people who don't yet know any better and try to reassure me with statistics about flying vs. driving that my fear of flying is completely medieval. I understand the physics that keep the plane in the air, but some 14th century part of my brain that really gets the if-she-drowns ---> she-isn't-a-witch syllogisms processes modern advances in aviation as "there is a BIG METAL THING IN THE SKY. This is NOT natural and it WILL fall."
7. Thinking for the millionth time that my class envy only really manifests itlsef around the idea of "luxury travel." I, too, want the matching luggage, in three-piece sets, Goldilocks-style. I, too, want first-class seats and unlimited top-shelf free booze to wash down the vicodin/xanax cocktail. Instead somehow I always end up travelling as a single-person gypsy caravan where there is a bomb threat at the airport AND while the police and their dogs sweep the perimeters (did I check for the hypothetical errant weed as thoroughly as I should have?) my bag rips at the check-in-counter and I end up having to hold it together with some good Samaritan's shoelaces and still, upon arrival at my destination, my bag sails into view on the baggage conveyer belt with my lingerie sticking out like a white flag.* I surrender, American Airlines! You were born to make Kafka a reality! Ad astra per aspera!**
8. Getting angry at my parents when they mangle the ritual Russian phrase "have a good takeoff and a soft landing" and screaming "what is WRONG with you?" when they instead wish me "a happy takeoff and a safe landing."
9. It's insomnia all night long, but at least it's made interesting by new exciting ad hoc OCD-ing. Do I smell gas? Is it possible that I lost a contact in my eye months ago and it's somewhere under my upper lid now? I can almost feel it! Is "stewardess" really the longest word you can type with your left hand only using standard touch-type? [On Edit: Donna Martin's Boyfriend correctly weighed in with "stewardesses."] Does my heart hurt?
10. My heart hurts.
11. Where the fuck is the Xanax??
12. Squinting at the bright morning sun produces colored sunspots in field of vision. After I blink the spots dissolve, like white balance setting itself but I can't get rid of the sneaking suspicion that the world around me just got marginally greener or redder and I don't realize it, in the same vein as the epiphany one of my housemates junior year had every time he dropped acid: "dude...what if...what if we never come down from acid? What if we just get used to it, and the next time we trip it´s like the next level...like a videogame!!"
13. Medieval brain pocket activates the eschatological referential mania that peaked about two weeks before Bush War II. EVERYTHING is Totally Apocalyptic in the most solipsistic way possible.
14. Where the fuck is the passport?? redux.
15. Could I have taken a boat? I know Bolivia is landlocked, that is not the point.
16. Nervous flashback to flying to England with anthropapa and asking him "what if the plane crashes?" to which he replied "then they will write about us: they lived happily and died on the same day."
17. Little bottles from the liquor store! I love you, little bottles from the liquor store!
18. Where the fuck is the Vicodin??
19. Ahhhh, Vicodin.
20. Oh SHIT, it's The Ides of March!
Now, if you excuse me, I have to go deal with the logistics stemming from the fact that there seems to be a revolution in progress in the country where I am due to land in about twelve hours.
*Yes, all this really happened, LAX, June 2000.
**For a while I considered getting that phrase as a tattoo, mostly because it reminded me of an old Soviet science fiction book that describes what is probably my favorite utopian society imagined in literature. Then one night a couple of years ago I went drinking with some people from college and encountered a total fuckup named Jesse whom I hadn't seen since graduation. He had that tattoo. When I inquired about it he said "oh yeah, it means the sky is the limit, I got it off a Pall Mall pack" Later that night he broke the bartender's arm while armwrestling on a wet bar, put "Jesse's Girl" on repeat in the jukebox, told me "I wish you were Jesse's girl" and before I knew what was happening, planted one on me and then said: "I've wanted to kiss you since before the bartender's arm got broken."
1. Petíte cognitive dissonance episodes where my unconscious sabotages projects related to the impending voyage (i.e. packing, putting passport somewhere I will be able to locate it, etc.)
2. Interjecting into unrelated conversations at random moments "I hate flying" or "I really don't want to fly tomorrow."
3. "What if there is a bag of weed that somehow made its way into my suicase? What if there is an old joint rolling around in the duffel bag lining and the dogs will smell it?"
4. Where the fuck is the passport???
5. Body understands that I don't WANT to fly and thoughtfully starts manifesting symptoms of a cold, flu or sinus infection.
6. Explaining to people who don't yet know any better and try to reassure me with statistics about flying vs. driving that my fear of flying is completely medieval. I understand the physics that keep the plane in the air, but some 14th century part of my brain that really gets the if-she-drowns ---> she-isn't-a-witch syllogisms processes modern advances in aviation as "there is a BIG METAL THING IN THE SKY. This is NOT natural and it WILL fall."
7. Thinking for the millionth time that my class envy only really manifests itlsef around the idea of "luxury travel." I, too, want the matching luggage, in three-piece sets, Goldilocks-style. I, too, want first-class seats and unlimited top-shelf free booze to wash down the vicodin/xanax cocktail. Instead somehow I always end up travelling as a single-person gypsy caravan where there is a bomb threat at the airport AND while the police and their dogs sweep the perimeters (did I check for the hypothetical errant weed as thoroughly as I should have?) my bag rips at the check-in-counter and I end up having to hold it together with some good Samaritan's shoelaces and still, upon arrival at my destination, my bag sails into view on the baggage conveyer belt with my lingerie sticking out like a white flag.* I surrender, American Airlines! You were born to make Kafka a reality! Ad astra per aspera!**
8. Getting angry at my parents when they mangle the ritual Russian phrase "have a good takeoff and a soft landing" and screaming "what is WRONG with you?" when they instead wish me "a happy takeoff and a safe landing."
9. It's insomnia all night long, but at least it's made interesting by new exciting ad hoc OCD-ing. Do I smell gas? Is it possible that I lost a contact in my eye months ago and it's somewhere under my upper lid now? I can almost feel it! Is "stewardess" really the longest word you can type with your left hand only using standard touch-type? [On Edit: Donna Martin's Boyfriend correctly weighed in with "stewardesses."] Does my heart hurt?
10. My heart hurts.
11. Where the fuck is the Xanax??
12. Squinting at the bright morning sun produces colored sunspots in field of vision. After I blink the spots dissolve, like white balance setting itself but I can't get rid of the sneaking suspicion that the world around me just got marginally greener or redder and I don't realize it, in the same vein as the epiphany one of my housemates junior year had every time he dropped acid: "dude...what if...what if we never come down from acid? What if we just get used to it, and the next time we trip it´s like the next level...like a videogame!!"
13. Medieval brain pocket activates the eschatological referential mania that peaked about two weeks before Bush War II. EVERYTHING is Totally Apocalyptic in the most solipsistic way possible.
14. Where the fuck is the passport?? redux.
15. Could I have taken a boat? I know Bolivia is landlocked, that is not the point.
16. Nervous flashback to flying to England with anthropapa and asking him "what if the plane crashes?" to which he replied "then they will write about us: they lived happily and died on the same day."
17. Little bottles from the liquor store! I love you, little bottles from the liquor store!
18. Where the fuck is the Vicodin??
19. Ahhhh, Vicodin.
20. Oh SHIT, it's The Ides of March!
Now, if you excuse me, I have to go deal with the logistics stemming from the fact that there seems to be a revolution in progress in the country where I am due to land in about twelve hours.
*Yes, all this really happened, LAX, June 2000.
**For a while I considered getting that phrase as a tattoo, mostly because it reminded me of an old Soviet science fiction book that describes what is probably my favorite utopian society imagined in literature. Then one night a couple of years ago I went drinking with some people from college and encountered a total fuckup named Jesse whom I hadn't seen since graduation. He had that tattoo. When I inquired about it he said "oh yeah, it means the sky is the limit, I got it off a Pall Mall pack" Later that night he broke the bartender's arm while armwrestling on a wet bar, put "Jesse's Girl" on repeat in the jukebox, told me "I wish you were Jesse's girl" and before I knew what was happening, planted one on me and then said: "I've wanted to kiss you since before the bartender's arm got broken."
