**Re-posting** Do I Really Want to be This Alone With My Thoughts?

I am doing a re-post because I don't feel like blogging today and I don't have any of my stashed posts ready to schedule yet... Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this one (from May 28, 2013) dealing with my special brand of crazy. 

Ever since I saw a post on G+ about relaxation tanks and deprivation chambers, I've been fascinated with the idea.

It seems therapeutic to take a little time to clear your head and just think without all the distractions of life. I started thinking how nice it would be to experience this kind of restful solitude and I wondered if there were any local places that offered the chance to try it out.

You know that anytime you start a search for one thing, you have to wade through twenty-million other things, right? I always start my searches way too general and never do get around to specifics.

A check for deprivation chambers brought up the expected tidal wave of results. I ended up checking out a link to how the chambers work.

Oh boy.

I got exactly 14 seconds in with this video and damn near had to call 9-1-1. Did you see her nose going under water? I couldn't stand to watch any longer. I almost drowned by proxy.

This video is not as exciting and artistic-looking, but at least I got the point without needed follow-up therapy.

Hmmm. Sounds nice, right? Except I didn't hear anything about cost or time limits. Pretty sure these aren't the kind of setups that you can have in an apartment as small as mine, even if you could afford one. Still, I did like the idea of getting enough relaxation and stress-relief to replace hours of sleep.

I sincerely liked the idea until I realized that I would be locked into a tank with nothing but some quiet relaxation. And my thoughts.

Speaking of therapy.

I have trouble with too much relaxation. Seriously.

The other day, I started using background sound videos on YouTube. I've been playing 4 to 8 hours of rainfall, ocean waves, wind-chimes... It was starting to sound like some sort of temple in my bedroom, but the soothing noises to help me stay focused on writing tasks. I liked the effect so much that I decided to use a video of sounds to help me sleep.

Okay. Once again I need to bring up my strange personality - phobia, weirdities and all.

Night One: I drifted off to sleep to the sound of crickets and wind and something that gently ticked. I woke up having a screaming nightmare about insects crawling over my body while I stood naked in a dark windy field looking at a scarecrow that was dressed like the priest in The Exorcist.

Night Two: I tried dozing off to some meditation chants and that seemed to work. I slept longer but still woke up at around 3 in the morning with memories of having performed strange sex acts with someone who (in my dreams) reminded me of my ex. I doused my room with holy water, said some prayers and told Satan to get thee behind me.

If I react like that in my sleep when I get too relaxed, I can't imagine the counseling I'd need after an hour or two in a deprivation chamber. I write to get thoughts out of my head; nothing sane can come of spending too much time with them.

Peace
--Free

Complicated Complications

Ever since I tripped and almost fell the other day, I've been self-reflecting and trying to think of ways I can be a better person. There's nothing like a little red-faced shame to make you self-evaluate...

Some people make resolutions at the start of a new year. I make all my lofty promises to myself with every twentieth beat of my heart. I really fight against believing in astrology, but I am the poster child for the Cancerian. Still, I never give up making these little self-improvement promises.

One of my continuous goals is to be more social. Ugh. That one is tough.

Yesterday one of my nieces Facebooked me about an app called Sweatcoin. Apparently, this app lets you accumulate some form of currency based on your step count. Sounds pretty good, right? I mean, most of us are already being tracked by the apps on our phones, so...

When I heard about the app, I asked my niece if it was something that also worked with a stationary bike. Answer: Nope. You have to go outside. My niece knows my personality and got my half-joking response which was basically to cringe at going out and being around people. Half-joking because I really do sometimes feel allergic to society.

I live just a short walk away from one of the most beautiful lakes ever. The air here is clean and fresh and, on most summer days, the weather is almost cinematically gorgeous. I love strolling down to the waterside and sitting in the park, but I have to almost meditate myself into the mood for doing so. The good summer weather brings a lot of people to our tiny town. I don't really have a problem with the people (most are really friendly and laid back), but I do have a problem with feeling surrounded. I know, I know. Some of you might think of me as weird. I prefer to think of myself as batshit complicated.

As much as I loathe crowds, I love my circle of friends. It's teeny-tiny and it's gotten so much teeny-tinier in the past 10 years. Thank you Death. Thank you very much.

My other goal is to really pay attention to all my phobias and figure out why they exist. I have a list of crap that scares me or makes me cringe. Like with most things in my life, I've discussed my phobias here again and again and again and many other agains.

The phobia I have to deal with most often is my fear of flying. Now that I live here in the Lower 48 where friends and family live much closer I'm getting better about plane rides. When I was up in Alaska, the only place I felt sorta-kinds-maybe not as nutty about getting on a plane was for trips to Seattle. And, to be clear, it's not really flying that bothers me. Once we get up and gong, I'm a pretty decent seat neighbor. The part that puts my heart in my throat is the taking-off and landing deal. Someone once explained that taking off and landing is when a plane is more likely to crash. I don't even care if that is true or not. The thought has been planted and it has grown a seed of panic that blooms every time I am on an airplane.

Some of my other "weirdities" don't count as phobias, but they still clutter the craziness of my life. There's my whole thing of not being able to sleep in a closed room while I also don't like having the door open. Okay. This one really is a nutty thing. I always sleep with the bedroom door closed, but I need to either have a window at least partially opened or fans going. Doesn't matter how cold it is. And I almost always have a fan going while I sleep. I swear, I damn near froze to death one winter night when I passed out drunk and naked half on and half off the bed. One of the reasons I don't drink often is because I don't drink well.

Most times, the open-door-fan-on thing is not dangerous to my health. That's because I also like to sleep under a heavy blanket. In the summer warmth, I run both a ceiling fan and a floor fan that is right next to my bed so that it can blow into my face.

I do realize that my phobias make my life more difficult than it needs to be but that doesn't change anything for me. This is who I am. I really am trying to be better but... Here's the thing: if I change, then I'm not my wacky, silly, lovable self? So I have to decide to be better without being too much of anything but me.

Peace
--Free

The Fear of... Everything

Because I'm going to be out of blogging space for a while, I thought I better rack up a couple posts to fill up the dead air. (?) I don't even know what that means! Hahaha!

Here's the thing, in addition to my other phobias, I have a fear of flying. Or rather, I have a fear of being in the air encased in a cylinder of metal going faster than I can drive. I'm not sure why I am afraid of flying. It might have to do with the fact flying out of Alaska involves flying over water. Lots of water. Alaska is surrounded by water: oceans, seas, bays, gulfs and straits. Water, water, everywhere.

water...water...water...water...

The problem: I can't swim. I don't even know about floating.

Another fact, even if I could swim, the water is so cold, I'd shiver myself to death before I could take a stroke. Or another stranded passenger would probably drown me for all my onboard hysteria. That's because not only am I afraid of flying, I'm kind of a pain in the ass passenger. If I'm not drunk, sedated or encased in a strait jacket, I tend to freak out fellow flyers.

If you don't believe me about what a wuss I am when it comes to being on an airplane, I have a true story for you:

When I got married and was moving to England, my husband, mother-in-law and I had non-smoking seats in the middle of one of those big airliners. This plane was huge. It had two stories. We were on the lower deck (?), in the middle row of a 7 across seating arrangement. It looked similar to this:

Please let everyone be skinny!

Here's a link with "all you need to know" about one of these newer versions of the plane. I don't know how heavy the plane itself was but, back then (in the early 80's), I'm glad I didn't know that paint adds 650kg to the weight those airliners. That's over 1400 pounds. At least back then, my body only added 95 pounds to all that mass hanging in the air!

Anyway, I had packed my cigarettes into my checked baggage. My husband and MIL weren't smokers. I had no Valium because I was such a rookie. I was leaving my family and going very far away from them for the first time without a return ticket.

I was young and in love. Life felt very adventurous. For about the first twenty minutes airborne. After that, I started crying and couldn't stop. My husband was British so, well, you know. He and his mother were all stiff upper lip and probably mortified that I was starting to make a scene. The flight attendants were all British, of course. I know they were mortified and probably thinking "Twenty minutes down and 17 hours to go. Oy."

I want my Mama!!!

My husband probably starting planning either divorce or murder right then.

At first, my MIL was patient, but I could tell I was starting to freak her out. Even though she was probably praying for a quickie divorce for her son, she did a lot of "There, there, it's going to be fine". Then she began to signal the attendants with her eyes like a hostage trying to signal strangers for help. One of them came over with a really stiff drink. That didn't help. Now I was just a little wasted and crying now.

After about an hour, I saw a couple of the attendants discreetly approaching other passengers to have whispered conversations. I assumed they were talking about me. Of course they were talking about me. That made me cry harder. I thought of being so far from home with a bunch of unfeeling people and their cold, unsalted food. I started plotting my husband's death. Then something wonderful happened. Or it seemed wonderful at the time.

A flight attendant came to me carrying another free drink and a the smallest pack of cigarettes I'd ever seen.

Apparently, even though we were in a non-smoking section, the other passengers had signed a petition and agreed not to kill me if the attendants could get me liquored and nicotine-d up enough to maybe shut up and pass out.

They wished for me to be like this
I wished for this

It worked out for everyone. After a good smoke and four servings of, I don't know - brandy or something that was both sweet and potent- I sniffled my way into a slumber that lasted (I kid you not) my companions woke me to deplane at Heathrow. The longest walk of my life was the one off that plane and past attendants who somehow managed to look sincere as they thanked me for flying British Airways. The Brits are so dang nice, even under the worst circumstances.

Good thing I don't have to do a lot of air travel, right? I'm better at it now. I've learned that a Valium or a drink about half an hour before boarding keeps the worst of my panic under control. Also, I'm not as afraid of dying as I used to be. I won't mind being dead and going to Heaven, but the getting dead part still worries me a bit.

She's not afraid to fly.
Then there's...

...me

I am very pleased to say that for this upcoming trip to Iowa, I did find a solution for the extra-long layover I have to endure. I spoke with the nicest airline rep ever (thank you, Erin Moore of American Airlines in Miami! You rock.) I learned that I can get a really affordable one day pass to lounge in the Admirals Club. As I mentioned to family members, I just have to make sure to find the right outfit comfortable enough to fly in without looking like a scrub when I get to the lounge. I'm thinking black jeans, black top and a my nice boots. Done. Nothing I can do about the wobbly knees except to medicate with liquor.

Again, a big shout out to American for having the Day Passes and for hiring excellent agents like Erin. It's always the reps that make an biggest impression for the company. I have high hopes for the Admirals Club. I've been in Delta's Crown Room and that was nice.

Okay. Now that you know about one of my experiences with flying, I will leave you to shake your head in wonder at how I manage life without a personal handler.

Peace
--Free