I Can’t Help Myself

I write to you from a very lovely hotel room at the Marriott in foggy San Diego this morning. My room is quite nice; I have a lovely view of the marina and harbor and a balcony, and the room is actually quite large. I am already dehydrated, which means I need to drink water today rather than Coke–which is just as well; I always have trouble sleeping when I travel and the caffeine doesn’t help very much–and have already run into some people already; some of the Queer Crime Writers, and various other crime fiction friends and writers. I am still on central time, so I woke up at four my time like always–it was two here, so of course I was terribly confused, because I’d left the bathroom light on and in my sleepy confusion I thought it was the sun and thought how did I not close the curtains last night? But after a few moments, I remembered where I was and what time it actually was and the curtains were closed.

I posted yesterday that I was trying out a new thing called Stress-Free Traveling, or something like that. Now that I know that I have anxiety, and can recognize those feelings as what they are, I can handle and control them. My flight was at one thirty, so I scheduled an eye exam in Metairie on the way for 10:20, figuring I’d be that much closer to the airport and I could still get there in plenty of time to make it through security and so forth and have lunch. The focus was on remaining calm and not getting upset at anything that was out of my control. Airports and airplanes are huge triggers for me, primarily because I worked in one for so long and I get tired of being around inconsiderate and rude people; and every time I fly it seems people’s behavior gets worse. But I remained calm. I didn’t get annoyed or fidgety in the security line; I didn’t get worked up about boarding and the line and all of that stuff. I got my lunch at Shake Shack–it was quite tasty–and the flight to Dallas wasn’t even half full so I had a whole row to myself. The flight out of Dallas was delayed for an hour because of a mechanical issue and an equipment swap (the jargon still flows naturally out of me), but it was fine. It was lovely meeting Carsen Taite at the Dallas airport, and we managed to get an empty seat between us on the flight to San Diego. I did get a bit impatient–hot, sweaty, traveling all day–at the over-long wait to get checked in, but the young woman was lovely and gave me this lovely room. I went to the Cozies and Cocktails event, which was fun, and then I went to the bar and hung out with the Queer Crime Writers, which is always delightful, and also ran into other friends, equally delightful before calling it a night and coming up to my nice, properly cold room, and slept like I do at home–deep periods of sleep interrupted by wake-ups, some of which were disorienting (it was two not four a.m.; the light was on in the bathroom so I thought the sun was up which was odd at two because I couldn’t have slept around the clock, on and on and on). But I feel rested this morning, if a bit dehydrated and hungry–part of the anxiety-free travel plan is to be good to myself and remember to eat and hydrate and give up on FOMO, which always keeps me up until late and then I can’t sleep and it just builds from there.

But these entries–if I manage to make any–will be short, most likely. I am heading downstairs to start conferencing. Talk to you soon!

(Oh! I was able to read about 150 pages of Kelly J. Ford’s The Hunt and it is marvelous.)