Sleep-deprived, but productive

[thrihyrne]

Between 5:40 a.m. (when I woke up suddenly, having dreamt about my coworkers, lawyers, being in a mall in Seattle and telling some random people I grew up in Wenatchee, and my George/Remus story) and 9 a.m., I managed to:

-pack for my trip tomorrow (one suitcase for the wedding I'm attending, and one for the other 9 days of schlepping stuff around from New Jersey to Virginia and back)

-write another 3 paragraphs in said George/Remus story

-bake banana bread with walnuts and a few chocolate chips for good measure

-reply to licia_north's lovely letter (well, technically I did that last night)

-get completely freaked out about flying tomorrow.


I've realized that it's not actually flying that bothers me; I like flying. I love being miles away from everybody, sequestered against the window in the back row (my preferred place to sit), listening to the music I want to since I can only sleep if I'm on Qantas. I'm only going to NY, so no chance there. What I'm afraid of, besides dying with a bunch of strangers, is of dying and having so much stuff unfinished. Perhaps that's why I've written so much this past year, and why I probably won't sleep tonight and will be finishing the George/Remus story. It's ridiculous, I know, but my book about how to deal with flying fears does indicate that it's usually people with vivid imaginations who suffer the most, because we let our crazy vision-filled minds go nuts with the way we'll crash and burn. I used to watch "Fearless" before flying, that movie in which Jeff Bridges survives a plane crash. I finally sold it. Now I just pretend that I'm one of my suave younger stepsisters, who don't worry about such things, or one of our board members who flies all the time. Rational people don't get all in a frenzy about a stupid flight. I try to look nonchalant and disaffected, concentrating on my knitting, ignoring the ridiculous thoughts in my head about everything I'll be leaving unfinished (stories, baby blanket, dispersal of possessions since I still haven't filled out a will, my responsibilites for judging in the Mithrils. The last I know should be laughable, but it's why I asked my friend Amy to be a "secret keeper" to alert people in fandom in a worst-case scenario since we all go by pseudonyms. I'd hate for my reputation to be tarnished because they thought I was simply ignoring their emails). I should be far more worried about figuring out what to do with my life, but that's just so hard to grasp, y'know? On the other hand, I suspect it's only those of us who think that it's a miracle every time they do land safely who experience actual euphoria when arriving at the airport, rather than boredom, but it's sure hell on the 'ol nerves and stomach.

Must say that I'm astounded by 'Brother Fire,' the G/R story. It's 22 pages. It'll probably be about 6 more before I'm done. And I really have enjoyed writing it, despite my original apprehension of making it a believable pairing.