There’s No Place Like Home
Its official. The closer I get to Saturday, and my “big exciting media tour of Israel,” the more I lose my shit. Earlier in the week, LCF observed that I’ve had “lines coming out of my head” like in a Harvey Pekar comic for days. And then last night after returning from a hellish foray to Lane Bryant on an emergency capri pants run, I sat in a catatonic stupor while he fixed me lasagna, then collapsed into full-on snot blowing baby sobs when I tried to sleep. It’s not just that I don’t want to go, and that I’m super-scared of getting blown up. I’m also upset because I don’t know where my spirit of adventure has gone, so for that reason alone I feel like I have to force myself onto that plane no matter what. When I think of myself, I don’t imagine someone afraid to travel, and usually I’m not at all. But for some reason this trip is totally pushing all of my anxiety buttons at once and the only way to make it stop is to just go and get it over with. How do you say “please pass the Xanax” in Hebrew?