Dreamer Easy

Up half the night again, of course, but my brain is gradually starting to heal itself after the combined trauma of stress, panic, tranks, and jetlag. On past OS trips I've been badly caught out by terrible attacks of anxiety and depression, because I didn't realise how much the whole process shakes up your neurotransmitters, etc - even just the dehydration, sleep deprivation and general hormonal confusion caused by flying for long distances. (I didn't use the CPAP on the plane, and was amused to keep waking up with enormous snorts, something I haven't done for weeks now. When we got home from the airport, I slept for about 16 hours, breaking my 1993 record of 14 hours after being awake for about two days straight, half of that spent in a continuous airborne panic attack.) It didn't help this year that I was so stressed out that I was having vicious headaches - I still am - like being stabbed with two icepicks in the base of the skull, over and over. I cried at the airport, and again, pathetically, panicking during a bumpy takeoff. Jon did his best to soothe me. But how am I going to do this again next year? And the next?

At this moment I feel relatively sane for the first time since arriving. Back when I was transitioning from Aropax to Zoloft, I had that terrific few days where I was on both drugs at the same time (whoops), and I was happily off my rocker. That's is what the afterlife will be like, the Amduat: the gentle, burbling, dreamlike thoughts, hypnogogic and calm, awake but not really aware, or vice versa. The last few days have been the nightmare version of that state: bewilderment, paranoia, overload, despair; a facade of cheerful chatty normality instantly blown to confusion by a question or decision. Hell instead of heaven. How am I going to do this again next year? And the next?

Also, maybe the diner wasn't such a good idea after barely eating anything for two days. *glort*

Note to future self: sleeping on plane = dehydration = appalling sore throat. Bring lozenges. ETA: Also Vegemite I am not kidding beeyatch.

Clothes and shit: a doddle.
Medications: always stressful, but better organised than usual this year.
Books: A NIGHTMARE. Two books or three? How much can I really read on the plane? Should I take both fiction and non-fiction? Oliver Sacks or Bill Bryson? etc etc etc

NUEW PUDEAUX T_T

The nice lady from the cattery picked them up this morning. THE HOUSE IS DEAD WITHOUT THEM.

XANAX YOU ARE MY BFF <3 <3 <3

I was extremely freaked out the week before we flew to NZ for Conjunction 2008. Looking back now, I can see that social phobia - OMG I MAY HAVE TO ACTUALLY TALK TO PEOPLE - was only a small component of the major, benny-eatin' stressout I had that week. I'd already seen my shrink about the horrors of having to do panels, sit in the bar, etc. We agreed that, when we looked closely, I wasn't actually that worried about it after all. Plus my fear of flying has long since dwindled from giant to dwarf. So where was that crushing anxiety coming from? I shall return to this vital question in a moment.

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Whilst in the US I was sent on a mission to find a very specific pair of socks, visiting several stores in a mall in my ultimately unsuccessful quest. In each store, I was assisted by someone friendly and helpful, but was rather thrown by one chap talking on the phone to a friend as he sold me something (other than the socks), and a lady chewing gum while we talked. This would be unusual here in Oz - even unprofessional and rude. But because I saw a dozen sales people in a row, I got the impression that they weren't being rude at all, that this was quite normal, and they'd have been surprised and confused if I was offended. I'm always fascinated by the differences in culture between Australia, the US, and the UK, but have I got the wrong idea here?

(ETA: Mind you, surely it's rude in the US as well as here for a hotel receptionist to avoid eye contact, keep a blank face, and mumble? That was such an odd experience last year that I was almost frightened by it.)

It's now approxiately ten hours since I dropped the boys off at the cattery, something I always find enormously stressful. I hadn't realised how much of that was the cats' obvious distress, first at the taxi, then at the sudden plunge into unknown surroundings. Normally I have no choice but to leave them cowering and miserable. But this time, they seemed to know where they were (about time, after five visits) and very quickly settled down. In fact, Frank started attempting to chew his way into the bag of Tim's special sensitive tummy food, and when I gave him a little snack of it even timid Tim emerged from hiding to steal some. This was a terrific relief to me, although let's face it, the 0.5 mg of Xanax didn't hurt either.

I then spent ninety minutes waiting for a taxi back from Annangrove. It arrived five minutes before the bus, so I pretended it had nothing to do with me and caught the 641 instead at a fraction of the cost. Ha ha.

I'm quite confused not to have the pudews constantly underfoot; I can leave doors open without naughty intruders, etc. I don't pine for them too much on our overseas jaunts, but they're part of our home and I miss them already.

In wholly unrelated news, Hamster's new hair > Rossy's horrid beard.

Discovered in one of the notebooks I carry around everywhere, a jetlagged haiku:

Countless wet matches
LA's flags, its windmill farms
Palm trees in the rain

Tim: oooooOOOOOWWWW! ooooOOOOOWWWWW!!!!

Frank: rrrrgggglllll, fuck off kid.

Spent yesterday in a state of jetlag-induced collapse. Thank heavens the mix of fatigue, aches, depression, and agitation didn't strike at the start of the trip; the Airtel would've been littered with corpses, some of them mine. It's normal for jetlag to fuck up your brain chemistry and hormones, but holy cow, I wasn't prepared for this. Hopefully it's behind me now so I can slither out to the PO Box, library, pet store, etc etc. It's Monday, so life officially begins again today.

Loosely inspired by the historical meal we enjoyed at Richie Tavern in Charlottesville, I made a rather decent bean and carrot soup for dinner last night, with lots of bottled smoke flavour in place of the ham hocks. I dumped in some leftover rice from the freezer and we had stuffed olives (just the supermarket variety) and low-fat cheese on the side. Tonight I plan to continue depopulating the oceans via baked fish with some sort of vegetable. We're having a low-fat week as penitence for our American excesses.

Let's see, that's the cats, food, and a whinge about my health - this entry is complete.

The secret of surviving interminable plane journeys: unconsciousness. In an effort to avoid more conniptions during turbulence - which I *know* is almost entirely safe as long as you're buckled in, but panic attacks are not susceptible to rationality, at least in the short term - I took a record amount of Xanax before and during our flights from IAD to LAX (a total of 4 mg over about 20 hours). I woke up somewhere over the Pacific, puzzled as to why the plane still hadn't taken off: it had, I'd just slept through it. Even during my all time greatest panic attack at SFO in 1996, in which phone counselling and Xanax allowed me to cling by ragged fingernails to sanity, I still noticed the sound and fury as the plane left the ground. Not this time - I slept through about 12 hours of a 14 hour flight. I highly recommend this as a means of avoiding the spirit-crushing boredom and jostling terror of the skies. If you're going to do this, don't carry an immense and heavy trade paperback in your carry-on - a waste of effort. Must get some therapy for that turbulence problem. I'm rather woozy and dazed, which I suspect is not fatigue but DRUGS.

My parents, bless them, fetched the cats home from kitty prison. They've almost completely settled back in after only an hour or so, although Frank won't stop meowing (or hissing at Tim - must reestablish their short, blunt hierarchy). Both are in superb condition and have lost weight, which suggests I've been overfeeding them - must watch that.

Got all the food through quarantine except the pigeon peas. Also got through the catnip seeds - bless you Carey!

Our house is tiny, messy, and smelly.