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2002-07-24
Bruised Like Rocky, But Really Wimpy
When I flew back to Florida Monday, I took a teeny plane from Columbus to Chicago, then boarded the big plane for the long haul to The Phallic State. The plane was set up with two columns of seats on the left, and three on the right. I was seated along the aisle on the left, and for a while, thought I was going to get lucky, because the plane was full, but my window seat was blessedly empty.

Not so fast. At the last minute, this pasty guy starts loading his stuff over my head, and I knew I had company. I know it wasn�t his fault he ruined my empty seat joy, but I got a little cranky anyway. Still, I lean forward and start to get up, so he can get into his seat. At the same time, the moron chooses that moment to toss his stuffed, heavy binder across me and into his seat.

He smacks me right between the eyes with the edge of that thing. I have a small cut and bruise.

All of a sudden, I find myself in a very weird social situation. He hurt me. And he didn�t just step on my foot, Binder Bastard hurt me bad enough to make my eyes burn and water, and to leave a mark. But he didn�t hurt me enough for me to need medical attention or ice or anything. What do you do? I sat there feeling like I should say or do something, but I had no idea what that something would be. So I just sulked, hating him the entire flight to Ft. Lauderdale.

Binder Bastard said he was sorry after he hit me, but he didn�t sound like he meant it. I don�t think he realized how hard he clocked me, but still. Right between the fucking eyes. About halfway through the flight, I looked down and noticed he was wearing the lamest shoes in America. Sneakers, but instead of laces, his foot showed on top with a little Velcro strap going across, like Mary Janes. I quickly refocused my anger to his stupid yellow shoes, and that helped.

I flew back and forth to Ohio three times in the last month. I�ve always loved flying, but after that kind of frequency, it�s lost some of its appeal. I think flying needs to be something done every once in a while, a treat. Like, you�re going somewhere, you�re all excited, and look, you�re flying! It�s a miracle! But after three round trips doing something NOT FUN, I felt very demeaned. I couldn�t wait to get off the damn plane on Monday, so I could get into my hot, shitty car and be demeaned on the highway.

Oooh, airport stories. I�m an animal.

So how am I?

I think I'm going crazy. I'm trying to put on a good game face (and in the past, I�ve always pulled it off with little trouble), but I've had a hard time being myself. I thought I was going to kill someone at my talk show last night - it was just so frustrating to feel so sad, but have to act so upbeat. I just feel... off. Like something in my brain isn't connecting my thoughts and feelings to my words and actions anymore.

I will readily admit I'm swimming around in a deep, deep lake of denial. Come On Out To Lake Denial, Fun For The Whole Family! I feel like I'm sitting back, watching this death stuff happen to someone else. I thought when I went to the viewing, seeing Mom's body would force me to realize she's really gone, but that whole event was so absurd, if anything, it pushed me farther into Lake Denial. I'm terrified that three months from now, I'll be in the middle of my morning talk show, mildly discussing manatee populations, when acceptance will come crashing down on my head like a flaming box of kittens.

Oh, and hey. Thanks for all the emails, guys. I'm writting back to each and every single one, slowly but surely. If you haven't gotten a response, you will soon.

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