"MOMMEEEE, I LOVE YOUUUUUU..."

...I heard as I sat on a toilet in Heathrow Airport on my layover. "MOMMEEEE, WHERE ARE YOU, I LOVE YOUUUU..." this creepy/cute little boys voice kept singing from one of the stalls. 

"I'll be right there, darling, STAY THERE," Mommee replied from across the bathroom. 

"MOMMEE, I'M FINISHED, I LOVE YOUUUU..." Women throughout the stalls cracked up laughing. I don't think I've ever pee'd and laughed in a collective before, but I recommend it. Feels very community. 

The best clouds are the ones below you

Sept 2, 7:22a, 38ish hours til take-off

Why am I taking this trip?  

Why do I keep asking why about this trip? Why can't I just go and enjoy it? (Neurosis.) 

I've been through the phases of rationalizing my trip in terms of perfect timing and writing opportunities- two days ago I even tried to turn the trip into an audition for The Next Necessary Travel Guide Vlogger - all to justify my life to myself. 

My amazing therapist (Do you live in Austin and need therapy? Lemme know, she is The Best.) told me the gift of these last 9 months of living in Austin and caring for my dad was learning how to live in the moment, so I'm going to try and do that. I'm good at it until the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man pops in my head. Then he steps on my church. 

Wait, but why am I taking this trip?

(What followed this thought purge was the beginnings of an anxiety attack. At my last appointment, my therapist asked me, "You're still taking the Lexapro?" Me: "Yes." Her: "Good. Don't stop anytime soon." Told you she was good.)

Sunday, 445p, 3ish hours til take off

Stella asks me on the way to the airport, "Are you anxious?" Me: "...No?"

Biker chick & Barack are my co-pilots

Monday 5:12 waiting to take off from Heathrow... 

Saturday night Stella reminds me to check-in for my flight. I do and realize I never picked a seat (I bought the ticket from some random third party travel website). My options are the WORST OF THE WORST middle seats or pay more than I want for a window or aisle (Team Window). Eleven hours of being sandwiched by strangers is more than I can stomach so I look at the fee as an idiot tax and carefully choose my window seat. 

24 hours later, I board the plane. I like window seats so I can sleep against them, but this particular window seat has an eight inch abyss between the seat and the wall just waiting to eat any pillow-type situation. It may as well have been an aisle seat. Poop. I futz with my pillow and blanket, trying to create a super pillow that will work. 

My seat mate arrives and asks if I'll trade seats with her husband who's also in a window seat about 12 rows down. I agree, realizing this will solve my pillow problem. 

Empty middle seat!

I arrive to my new seat to find a little woman in it- she asks, do I want the middle seat? Absolutely not, to her subtle dismay. We settle in and voodoo, hoodoo, and God moves random people in and out of the remaining aisle seat until take-off- when SOMEHOW the seat remains empty. My lady friend shoves over and, just like that, with 22 extra inches between us, we like each other again. She even gives me her breakfast fruit (life-saving) bc she special ordered a meal and I had regular people food. Middle seat magic for the win! 

THANK GOD FOR OUR EMPTY MIDDLE SEAT!

The flight is painless. I watch Table 19 (I REALLY liked it, comedy/drama story from the Duplass brothers, it was just what I needed to unwind), fifteen minutes of a Woody Harrelson vehicle I'm not in the mood for, and Berlin Syndrome (great simple/taut thriller I'd never heard of, woman director I can't wait to see more from).

After a quick layover in Heathrow, I sit in another window seat WITH AN EMPTY MIDDLE SEAT THAT I SWEAR IS THE ONLY ONE ON THE PLANE. 

YES! Two times!!

THANK YOU GOD! AGAIN!

But really how does this keep happening?? This is the stuff that's making me anxious!! It dawns on me as we pull away from the gate and I'm enjoying all kinds of personal space: I keep waiting for something terrible to happen to me because my life is pretty good right now. All my parents are settled and healthy, my life is full of wonderful people, my antidepressants work well, and I'm fucking flying to another country for a vacation for the second time in six months without having to kill myself in an office job I hate. What?! Who gets to do that?? 

Now I feel like an asshole because East Texas is under water, LA is on fire, and everything else sucks. (Click links to donate.)

Okay, so here: If it makes anyone feel any better, both my credit cards just got declined by the flight attendant because they're Bank of America and they made me return my sparkling water. So my life's not entirely perfect...

"Anxiety attack. No beach today-"

...is what I texted Stella mid-morning.
 
Rather than go through with some big awesome plans I had for an all day beach hike in Manly, I got side barred by an unexpected anxiety attack brought upon by the realization that I still have no place to live when I get to NYC in less than 3 weeks. That slightly stressful thought broke the seal to all other stressful thoughts that have ever existed and it was downhill from there. When the thought of a nature hike makes you anxious it's time to stay home- so I did.

(Years ago, my step-mom introduced me to the concept, "Where ever you go, there you are." The idea annoyed me then at 21, so you can imagine how I feel about it now.)

The relief I felt at staying home was so great, I began to reevaluate how I was "enjoying" my vacation. I had been adamant with myself about making this a "working vacation", meaning I would spend half the day writing and have the other half off to explore Sydney, be a tourist, whatever, etc. What I was finding, however, was vacationing was starting to feel like work, too. The pressure to see and do was outweighing the desire to see and do, especially since I've become so hyper-aware of how much time I have here before I leave for Melbourne, how much time I have in Melbourne, and how much time I have in Sydney once I'm back from Melbourne.

It's too much thinking. I'm done thinking. (I'm gonna try to be done. For little moments here and there I can definitely try to be done... Okay, I'll try to try.)

After my writing was done for the day, I took the opportunity to pay another visit to The Wolverine set and watch Jim work. (Swoon, movie-making, swoon...) I got the added bonus of getting to chat with Hugh Jackman once again and realizing he's not only the nicest actor I've ever met, but likely one of the nicest people ever to walk the earth. Ever. (He offered me his home in Melbourne for my trip! Then he remembered it was occupied, but MY GOD. I'd only known him a collective 10 minutes. Nice, nice, nice, nice, nice... I love him. )

The rest of my visit to set can be summed up in a few simple pictures...