Davey Takes a Flight!

I’m convinced that one of the worst things in the world is waking up for a 6am flight.

That was me this morning. Since noon yesterday it was all I could think about. Getting everything done in time to get to bed early enough so that waking up at 4:15 am acceptable. The problem is- that time doesn’t exist! One could be in bed at 4:15pm, get a full twelve hours of sleep, and still feel like crying when that alarm goes off.

It was so early Jaimie or my parents didn’t even offer to take me.

It was so early my Uber driver didn’t even try to make chit chat. Thank God! I gave him a huge tip just for not talking to me.

I’m on my way to Montana to do two performances of Stages, and to see my old college roommate, Dylan. I have a show tomorrow for a Young Survivor Retreat at a place called Camp Make a Dream. On Friday I’ll teach a writing workshop. Then on Saturday I’ll be performing at the Downtown Dance Collective in Missoula. It’s a strange feeling revisiting the show in the midst of treatment. On my off days I just want to forget about the whole thing, and the show makes me relive it from the beginning. I guess that’s the thing about writing plays about your life- sometimes that life actually happens. The plays no longer become pieces from the past, they become things I’m currently experiencing.

It’s ok- theatre isn’t for the weak.

What is weak, however, is what a amateur I’ve become at flying!

When I was in New York I used to fly all the time. Ever since I moved back south six years ago, planes seem like things to avoid at all costs. Don’t get me wrong- I go places. I just go places I can drive to.

This morning was humiliating. I forgot we had to pay to check bags. I didn’t think that caught on. Apparently it did. They told me it would be thirty dollars and I was like, “Ann Nelson did not raise me to pay $30 to check a bag.”

So I decided to carry it on, but of course I had liquids! So many liquids. I realized that I did up the escalator so before I got in line I tried to bury my contraband in between some shirts and underwear.

Spoiler alert- it didn’t work. They found my newly purchased $22 hair volumizer and I had to throw it away. They also got rid of my Thoms of Maine Natural toothpaste.

To make matters worse I forgot to bring my ear phones. Which means my ears are at the mercy of the sounds of the people traveling with me. So many horrible conversations! This dude in his 50s making jokes to total strangers. The moron who saw my Cubs hat and asked me if I’m from Chicago. Even right now I’m listening to someone talk about how much she loves her career to a total stranger two rows behind me. It’s horrible!

Luckily my seat mates don’t speak English. Like zero. He’s currently reading his ticket with a magnifying glass. They each had to touch me to let me know they needed to use the bathroom. I was like, touch me all you want, as long as we can sit here in silence. My next flight I’ll probably be sitting next to a “people person” looking to make a friend.

It’s just so interesting how quickly life becomes different. How quickly comfort zones become raised and difficult to move out of. Of course I have an excuse. It’s tough to leave the safety of your routine when you’re trying to heal. But if I’m not careful, and if my routines and become even more crystalized and sacrosanct, then what exactly am I healing for?

So this is good that I have been up since 4:15. That I’m hearing the horrible jokes of my fellow passengers. It’s good to be experiencing the low grade nausea brought about by chemotherapy and the bumpy plane ride. Because on the other side is a reminder that life is bigger than my apartment and my bi-weekly infusions. A reminder that life is an adventure. And most totally worth it.

I will be buying earphone for the trip back, however. I'm not a masochist.