There are very few things that make me barf. Seeing someone else barf is one of them. Bad injuries are another.
I don’t barf at cleaning up cat stuff. It’s either too much experience or I’m tough.
Taxes and medical tests can make be barfy or cranky (take your pick).
Travel will do it. Even if there is no motion sickness, there is the anxiety. It exhibits itself at one end of the body or the other. Nasty stuff.
I worry about being late. Late for planes, late for trains, just late. Missing a plane or train makes sense because it’s a big deal to reschedule. For other things it doesn’t matter. Logic doesn’t enter here. I still worry.
I worry about getting stranded anywhere – big cities or the middle of nowhere. (I bet there is a long Latin name for that! It ends in phobia.) Others may look at this as an adventure. I am petrified. I’ve spent my share of time in terminals. Waiting. Sleeping. Eating pretzels because nothing is open. Not fun.
When I was younger, I was better at this. I did a lot of traveling even with my anxieties. A nice margarita before flight often helped. Now it just makes me go to the bathroom.
I have fond memories of running barefoot (it’s faster than running in heels) in an airport from the bar to the gate with a friend because time got away from us. That was back in the days when things were more relaxed. Run in an airport today and you may be taken down as a suspect, even if you are old and blonde. (Especially if you are old and blonde!)
Bathrooms are another anxiety. Who fits in those anyway? Twiggy? No matter how little I drink, I always have to use them. Usually after someone sprayed the room during turbulence.
By the way, turbulence is one thing that doesn’t make me barfy. Did I say there’s no logic here.
I have a friend who swears by Xanax for flying. It makes me sleepy so I have the additional worry of sleeping through my gate announcement or maybe the next holiday.
I’m waiting for Scotty. He can beam to wherever I want to go. Just hoping he makes it in my lifetime. Woo hoo!