No Sleep ‘Til Burbank!

Wednesday: black Prada slides

If you’re reading this in the morning then I’m currently at 35,000 feet and hopefully sleeping. Because yesterday I got this crazy stupid idea in my head that I was going to pull an all-nighter. Okay, I didn’t even do that in college — well, maybe once, but I was irresponsible then — what was I thinking?

In truth I probably wouldn’t have slept all that well anyway, because I have these travel phobias. First there’s this fear of missing flights. It’s probably not an irrational one, since I’ve had many a scare — wishing, praying, swearing my way to the airport in a cab that’s stuck in unexpected traffic. And then there were all the times I’d just barely make it to Gare du Nord to get on the Eurostar… And they don’t even have a 30-minute rule for checking in.

It’s now 3:30 a.m. and and the car’s coming in 105 minutes. My head’s hurting… my eyelids are getting heavy… I’ve just about run out of things to watch on my DVR. I don’t know how I can stay awake. I might just have to re-pack my shoes. I’ve allotted five pairs for four days, and no, I don’t think that’s excessive. (Actually my frazzled brain is starting to think that’s not really enough…) But the real issue is how I will fit all those shoes in my carry-on because even greater than my fear of missing my flight is my deathlyfear of losing my luggage. I’m seriously considering putting my laptop in my checked luggage so I can fit all my shoes in my carry-on.

Seriously, this is not my delirium speaking. It’s the wisdom of experience! Last year I made the stupid mistake (again, it was a really early flight) of putting my Grammy outfit in the checked bag, handing it over to United, walking through security… and then realizing the agent had checked me into a flight to San Francisco. I rushed back to the counter, but my bag was gone. My heart was squarely in my throat. The agent promised to chase down my bag and put the correct tags on it, but I couldn’t wait for him to get back; I had to run to board my flight. So because I didn’t see him retagging it with my own eyes I spent the whole six-hour flight wondering if I’d ever see my things again. Now that’s what I call flight turbulence!

This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 8th, 2006 at 4:39 am and is filed under Fashion, Miscellany. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.