I have flown a lot in the past few months and beginning next week I’ll be flying every single weekend in October to a different part of the country – all for good things in comedy and then more flying will resume in Nov and December. Good God.
I never thought I’d enjoy flying so much. Now, I look forward to the flight sometimes more than the trip. I love the limbo of flight. I love being above the clouds and in the clouds. I love looking at America out the window all divided up into neat little squares. I love people bringing me orange juice every hour.
My psychiatrist, the person who prescribes my meds so I can fly is an interseting fellow. He has about fifteen minutes to see you and has to recap in his mind and looking at his notes what your story is. Keep in mind he sees about four patients an hour and I only see him once a month.
He never remembers that in my recovery from fearful flying, I never once had a problem trusting pilots. In fact, any time I hear of a sleep-deprived or drunk pilot, I just can’t believe it. I mean I accept that these things happen, but trust me, I trust pilots.
He said the other day when I told him that my fear is dwindling and now I just take the minimum amount of meds so I don’t get antsy and panicky (I still don’t exactly enjoy sitting in a plane for six hours – it gets a little edgy) he says, “Well, you’ll realize soon too, the next step will be that you can trust pilots and that turbulence is natural.”I always say, “I know. I never feared that.” But he’s off and running demonstrating with his hand how the wind flaps on the wings in certain air pockets cause blah, blah, blah. I smile and nod and wait for him to sign his name on the prescription.
What I notice about not being completely zonked anymore on a plane is that I have very Restless Legs on flights and yet I hate standing up and stretching. I’m one of those weirdos that once I’m in a position, eye mask on, blanket on, pillow around neck, ipod on, TV on, magazine in hand, I will not get up. For anything.
Anyway, seems like I’m a growing and changing person. And when I think about it, half the stuff that concerned me recently and that even appears on my album seems dumb to me now, whether it’s funny or not is not my argument, but it just doesn’t feel like “me”. I’m having a hard time understanding why rock stars get bent out of shape when you don’t have their first albums. If I make more comedy records, I’ll demand that everyone leave my first one alone.
Of course, the little worm in my brain creeps up that now that “I love to fly and it shows” (remember that old Delta slogan) that that is when I’ll board the flight that will accidentally zoom off into outer space and explode and everyone at my funeral will get to comment on the irony – but at least they’ll have something to talk about besides the weather.