I know many of you will be totally surprised by this, but I am a slightly, wee-bit of an anxious person. Shocking, right? Yeah. Okay. Not at all shocking.
Usually, I keep my anxiety in check by making complicated To Do Lists, blogging, and every once in a while standing in front of the refrigerator and gnawing on frozen cookie dough like it’s an ear of corn.
But when I travel…yeah…that Beast pretty much breaks free of its chains and goes all “Roooaaaar” and then stomps on miniature cities. (I think I might be mixing metaphors here, like splicing Godzilla and the Kraken, but that’s what my Anxiety is: a mutherfucking MONSTER.) Actually, here's a scene from the classic film SINBAD that captures how I'm feeling. (I'm the Cyclops.)
We leave tomorrow and I’m so anxious right now that I’m THRUMMING. And not in a Fifty Shades of Grey way. No.
It’s like I have not just PMS but Super PMS, like my bitch-factor is wearing boots, a cape, and carrying a trident. (I’ve always wanted to carry a trident.)
I’ve tried to gently warn Kealoha. In my mind I said: “My love, I’m feeling a little bit anxious about the flight and travel and being surrounded by French people and possibly eating offal without my knowledge. Please just help me through this and let’s find me some anxiety meds.”
What I said in actuality, out loud in a snarky voice “You know they drink wine in France.”
“So just, you know, don’t order a rum based drink like you do without the banana flavors or blue color or whatever. Please, for god’s sake, just order WINE.”
Kealoha: blink blink blink.
I need to chill out. I already finished off the wine in the fridge yesterday. I may have to have Kealoha take me out for mojitos on an empty stomach.
He says he still loves me. Let’s hope that’s true after the honeymoon.
I can do this. I can totally do this.
Breathe breathe (choke on a gnat, spit it out, do shot of a tequila and) BREATHE.