klsiegel320 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
klsiegel320) wrote2003-09-02 10:00 am
klsiegel320) wrote2003-09-02 10:00 am
Journaling at 35,000 Feet
Yes, you're reading right. I'm currently cruising at 35,000 feet aboard Continental's flight 1165 to Atlanta, Georgia, which (according to the pilot) will be ten minutes early, due to circumstances beyond [their] control. There's just not a thing they can do about it, he says. Go ahead, break my heart, get me an extra ten minutes...see if I care.
Mind you, I'm not posting from here. I'm very good at spending money, but some things just are not worth it to me. There's not a thing I'm going to say in this entry that's worth spending $16 to post it from here, instead of waiting until I get to my apartment in Atlanta.
And those of you who know me oh-so-well are wondering about now, "What's she doing with the laptop up, typing, at 35,000 feet. Doesn't she usually bury her head in her needlework from about the time they ring the 10,000-foot bell until the captain tells the flight attendants to be seated for arrival?"
She does. Usually. But this time she packed without really looking carefully at the checklist, without purposefully checking off each item as she placed it in the bag or pouch or whatever. This time, she made assumptions.
Partly it's because she's been doing this for so long now. Partly it's because she was one-more-thing-ing herself until about 10:30 at night, which is about when she realized she'd better finish putting things in bags and get a tiny bit of sleep. Partly, it's because she forgot - or chose deliberately to ignore - the cardinal rule of travel: Thou shalt not pack without a checklist.
Consequently, she arrived at Newark-Liberty International Airport bright and early to realize very suddenly that while she had automatically checked off the No. 3 and No. 5 steel crochet hooks on the checklist, she had done it without verifying that they were actually in the needlework pouch. They were not. They were still on the tray table by the rocking chair in the chaotic living room in Edison, where they are reasonably safe but where she cannot reach them.
Panic! Horror! What on earth to do with her hands for a god-awful almost-two-hours in the air, likely to be bumpy air even because of the long front passing through?
Deep, even breaths. It is not a catastrophe. It is not particularly pleasant, but it is not a catastrophe. There is always the Palm Pilot. She has demonstrated on previous occasions an amazing (appalling?) ability to play Bejeweled or Big Money until the Palm battery quits and needs recharging. There's the Skymall catalog. There's a notepad in her laptop case, and plenty of pens - she can brainstorm the assortment of tasks that need to be added to the prioritized task list. There's a book...probably not. Reading in the air isn't easy; too much concentration needed, too easy to get airsick.
There's the laptop. She could do her daily task list (a task that can take a half hour by itself, on a bad day). She could start her packing checklist for this coming weekend. She could update her shopping list to include replacement crochet hooks. She could (finally) add to her LiveJournal.
So, I've done the brainstorming list. Started that in the airport lounge and finished it (for now) while we were waiting to take off. I've done the daily task list - not easy, because it's hard to see the screen at this angle and I think some items got mis-categorized because I couldn't read the list in the glare ('til I figured out that I could always close the window shade). The shopping list is updated, and the travel checklists are started. I could do more with those, perhaps, but the next thing I need to do with them would be hard to do up here.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you find me typing an update to my LiveJournal at 35,000 feet.
I'm guessing we might be about a half-hour away; I think we were due in at 11, and they said ten minutes early. Might even be closer than that; I have to admit, this occupies enough brain cells that it's a nice distraction from the flying part, and I'm not just sure how far along we are. Pretty nice out, right now - scattered clouds, and a bit hazy, but I can see landscape down there.
I always prefer that - when we're above clouds is my second favorite, because the clouds are pretty, but I hate being swathed in cloud cover. It always makes me think of that old Twilight Zone episode, where the plane is flying through this dense fog and turbulence, and they finally come out of the fog into this prehistoric landscape, and they've somehow traveled through time...makes me wonder if that's exactly how the author got the idea?
It's the distraction I'm looking for. If I'm insufficiently distracted, my mind will race in a big circle through all the assortment of horrible things that can happen on planes, or that have happened on planes, or that could someday happen on planes. This is counter-productive: it speeds up my heart rate, and if I keep at it long enough, makes me cry uncontrollably. Basically, I develop a panic attack, if I let myself.
There are parts of the panic that resist being suppressed, though. I've developed over the past several months of this gig a weird sort of nausea: on the morning of a flight (even if the flight isn't until evening), I get peculiarly nauseated. It's a very sensitive nausea; if I get a dry throat and then swallow, I feel that I'm going to be sick. Sometimes even the smell of food does it. Sometimes even the idea of the smell of food does it. It responds only sullenly to Dramamine, and adds a little frisson of fear of embarrassment to the rest of the mix (as if I needed anything else).
Don't get me wrong - this is improving. At the beginning of this gig, I started getting heart palpitations the morning before flight day (regardless of what time of day the flight was. And these continued, along with shortness of breath and a sort of heaviness in my chest all through boarding and taxi and take-off, and a few times right through the entire flight until we were back on the ground - when the symptoms disappeared as though they had never been until the next time I had to get on a plane.
Gradually it's tapered off, until I can mostly concentrate until the last hour or so before I leave for the airport. Sometimes I can even concentrate well enough that I almost forget to leave for the airport, which has dangers of its own.
My heart still pounds a bit during take-off, and whenever we encounter turbulence, although I'm getting less sensitive about the latter. I visualize a ship in choppy water; I repeat the mantra "as the boat to water, the plane to air" to remind myself of the basic fact that the plane is designed to navigate through the currents of air just as the ship is designed to navigate through the currents of water. I visualize the changes of region, the bands and boundaries of air that we pass through vertically and horizontally, reminding myself that this is what planes do.
[Small editorial aside: we're beginning to descend for serious, so I think I guessed right about arrival time.]
I've also learned when I can and cannot look out the window. It is pretty important to my wellbeing that I endure take-off with my head back and my eyes closed, breathing deeply. It is important that I resist all temptations to "peek" and stay that way until the 10,000-foot bell. At that point, I can look pretty contentedly unless we're swathed in clouds or driving through a thunderstorm. I can keep looking pretty contentedly until landing, except during banking turns - if I look during banking turns, something very odd and very unpleasant happens to the inside of my head, and I maximize the chances that I will be directionally challenged for the rest of the day (i.e., I think I'm walking straight until I realize I'm actually tacking left.)
The best thing, I think, is that I've become much more familiar with how the plane moves. For the longest time, that was the hardest thing. I'd feel like I was falling, or tipping over; on take-off in particular I'd feel I was tipping over backwards (which I've done in a rocking chair, and that's plenty bad enough). I'd be afraid the plane was falling out of the sky, or shaking itself apart, or doing something else entirely unhelpful. Over time, I've gotten accustomed to the movement patterns of climbing and descending, so I can mostly get through these maneuvers without clinging to the seat and screaming (which I'm sure my fellow passengers appreciate :)).
Oh, yeah, here we go - big banking turn, and I'm in a window seat because it was about the only option I had in order to be near the front - that's another little trick I've learned. Sit forward; for a 737, wing-exit row or forward of that - and you feel the turbulence less. Although on some flights, I've had to ask myself, "If this is feeling it less, what would more be like?" Excepting of course that I'm sure I'd rather not know that answer....
Looks like the weather's cleared even more in Atlanta, assuming we're reasonably close; there are scattered puffy clouds, but I can still see ground. I think it's funny that we've been descending for about fifteen minutes of so, and they'll come on the PA shortly to say that the captain has "begun our descent into the Atlanta area." Like we hadn't noticed the dropping and leveling, dropping and leveling for the last fifteen minutes? Too funny.
And then once we're in there's claiming the bag and running off to get the car and running off to the office...I really wish I thought I could get away with working from the apartment this afternoon, but I don't think so. And there's the seatbelt sign, about to be followed by that descent announcement - yup, there it is.
So I think I'm going to wrap this up and sign off, for now, and come back later or tomorrow to fuss about something else. Have a great day!
[60 miles out; at the gate at 11:10, about 17 minutes early, per the captain]
I suppose it's a good thing that we're almost there, because I'm running out of witty and intelligent things to say.
Mind you, I'm not posting from here. I'm very good at spending money, but some things just are not worth it to me. There's not a thing I'm going to say in this entry that's worth spending $16 to post it from here, instead of waiting until I get to my apartment in Atlanta.
And those of you who know me oh-so-well are wondering about now, "What's she doing with the laptop up, typing, at 35,000 feet. Doesn't she usually bury her head in her needlework from about the time they ring the 10,000-foot bell until the captain tells the flight attendants to be seated for arrival?"
She does. Usually. But this time she packed without really looking carefully at the checklist, without purposefully checking off each item as she placed it in the bag or pouch or whatever. This time, she made assumptions.
Partly it's because she's been doing this for so long now. Partly it's because she was one-more-thing-ing herself until about 10:30 at night, which is about when she realized she'd better finish putting things in bags and get a tiny bit of sleep. Partly, it's because she forgot - or chose deliberately to ignore - the cardinal rule of travel: Thou shalt not pack without a checklist.
Consequently, she arrived at Newark-Liberty International Airport bright and early to realize very suddenly that while she had automatically checked off the No. 3 and No. 5 steel crochet hooks on the checklist, she had done it without verifying that they were actually in the needlework pouch. They were not. They were still on the tray table by the rocking chair in the chaotic living room in Edison, where they are reasonably safe but where she cannot reach them.
Panic! Horror! What on earth to do with her hands for a god-awful almost-two-hours in the air, likely to be bumpy air even because of the long front passing through?
Deep, even breaths. It is not a catastrophe. It is not particularly pleasant, but it is not a catastrophe. There is always the Palm Pilot. She has demonstrated on previous occasions an amazing (appalling?) ability to play Bejeweled or Big Money until the Palm battery quits and needs recharging. There's the Skymall catalog. There's a notepad in her laptop case, and plenty of pens - she can brainstorm the assortment of tasks that need to be added to the prioritized task list. There's a book...probably not. Reading in the air isn't easy; too much concentration needed, too easy to get airsick.
There's the laptop. She could do her daily task list (a task that can take a half hour by itself, on a bad day). She could start her packing checklist for this coming weekend. She could update her shopping list to include replacement crochet hooks. She could (finally) add to her LiveJournal.
So, I've done the brainstorming list. Started that in the airport lounge and finished it (for now) while we were waiting to take off. I've done the daily task list - not easy, because it's hard to see the screen at this angle and I think some items got mis-categorized because I couldn't read the list in the glare ('til I figured out that I could always close the window shade). The shopping list is updated, and the travel checklists are started. I could do more with those, perhaps, but the next thing I need to do with them would be hard to do up here.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you find me typing an update to my LiveJournal at 35,000 feet.
I'm guessing we might be about a half-hour away; I think we were due in at 11, and they said ten minutes early. Might even be closer than that; I have to admit, this occupies enough brain cells that it's a nice distraction from the flying part, and I'm not just sure how far along we are. Pretty nice out, right now - scattered clouds, and a bit hazy, but I can see landscape down there.
I always prefer that - when we're above clouds is my second favorite, because the clouds are pretty, but I hate being swathed in cloud cover. It always makes me think of that old Twilight Zone episode, where the plane is flying through this dense fog and turbulence, and they finally come out of the fog into this prehistoric landscape, and they've somehow traveled through time...makes me wonder if that's exactly how the author got the idea?
It's the distraction I'm looking for. If I'm insufficiently distracted, my mind will race in a big circle through all the assortment of horrible things that can happen on planes, or that have happened on planes, or that could someday happen on planes. This is counter-productive: it speeds up my heart rate, and if I keep at it long enough, makes me cry uncontrollably. Basically, I develop a panic attack, if I let myself.
There are parts of the panic that resist being suppressed, though. I've developed over the past several months of this gig a weird sort of nausea: on the morning of a flight (even if the flight isn't until evening), I get peculiarly nauseated. It's a very sensitive nausea; if I get a dry throat and then swallow, I feel that I'm going to be sick. Sometimes even the smell of food does it. Sometimes even the idea of the smell of food does it. It responds only sullenly to Dramamine, and adds a little frisson of fear of embarrassment to the rest of the mix (as if I needed anything else).
Don't get me wrong - this is improving. At the beginning of this gig, I started getting heart palpitations the morning before flight day (regardless of what time of day the flight was. And these continued, along with shortness of breath and a sort of heaviness in my chest all through boarding and taxi and take-off, and a few times right through the entire flight until we were back on the ground - when the symptoms disappeared as though they had never been until the next time I had to get on a plane.
Gradually it's tapered off, until I can mostly concentrate until the last hour or so before I leave for the airport. Sometimes I can even concentrate well enough that I almost forget to leave for the airport, which has dangers of its own.
My heart still pounds a bit during take-off, and whenever we encounter turbulence, although I'm getting less sensitive about the latter. I visualize a ship in choppy water; I repeat the mantra "as the boat to water, the plane to air" to remind myself of the basic fact that the plane is designed to navigate through the currents of air just as the ship is designed to navigate through the currents of water. I visualize the changes of region, the bands and boundaries of air that we pass through vertically and horizontally, reminding myself that this is what planes do.
[Small editorial aside: we're beginning to descend for serious, so I think I guessed right about arrival time.]
I've also learned when I can and cannot look out the window. It is pretty important to my wellbeing that I endure take-off with my head back and my eyes closed, breathing deeply. It is important that I resist all temptations to "peek" and stay that way until the 10,000-foot bell. At that point, I can look pretty contentedly unless we're swathed in clouds or driving through a thunderstorm. I can keep looking pretty contentedly until landing, except during banking turns - if I look during banking turns, something very odd and very unpleasant happens to the inside of my head, and I maximize the chances that I will be directionally challenged for the rest of the day (i.e., I think I'm walking straight until I realize I'm actually tacking left.)
The best thing, I think, is that I've become much more familiar with how the plane moves. For the longest time, that was the hardest thing. I'd feel like I was falling, or tipping over; on take-off in particular I'd feel I was tipping over backwards (which I've done in a rocking chair, and that's plenty bad enough). I'd be afraid the plane was falling out of the sky, or shaking itself apart, or doing something else entirely unhelpful. Over time, I've gotten accustomed to the movement patterns of climbing and descending, so I can mostly get through these maneuvers without clinging to the seat and screaming (which I'm sure my fellow passengers appreciate :)).
Oh, yeah, here we go - big banking turn, and I'm in a window seat because it was about the only option I had in order to be near the front - that's another little trick I've learned. Sit forward; for a 737, wing-exit row or forward of that - and you feel the turbulence less. Although on some flights, I've had to ask myself, "If this is feeling it less, what would more be like?" Excepting of course that I'm sure I'd rather not know that answer....
Looks like the weather's cleared even more in Atlanta, assuming we're reasonably close; there are scattered puffy clouds, but I can still see ground. I think it's funny that we've been descending for about fifteen minutes of so, and they'll come on the PA shortly to say that the captain has "begun our descent into the Atlanta area." Like we hadn't noticed the dropping and leveling, dropping and leveling for the last fifteen minutes? Too funny.
And then once we're in there's claiming the bag and running off to get the car and running off to the office...I really wish I thought I could get away with working from the apartment this afternoon, but I don't think so. And there's the seatbelt sign, about to be followed by that descent announcement - yup, there it is.
So I think I'm going to wrap this up and sign off, for now, and come back later or tomorrow to fuss about something else. Have a great day!
[60 miles out; at the gate at 11:10, about 17 minutes early, per the captain]
I suppose it's a good thing that we're almost there, because I'm running out of witty and intelligent things to say.