The Nightmare

Someone recently asked me how my preparations were going. Internally I cringed. "Not well", I was thinking. In fact up until recently the only items I had prepared were my 3 powerpoints and a video slide show. I hadn't begun to think about all the other tasks that laid before me: finding Islamic appropriate clothing for Eugene Summer-like weather, arranging a dog-sitter, mailing off all of my passport copies/emergency numbers/etc, wrapping things up at the office, blah, blah, blah.

That evening my brain went into secret, subconscious "put a fire under my butt" mode--I had a nightmare.

You know the kind I am talking about. We have all had them. Standing in front of our middle school classroom--naked. Walking around a city--without pants on. Failing to bring the correct shoes for Rockettes audition (ok, maybe that one is just me). Anyway, you get the point. While enjoying our friendly REMs, our brain plays nasty, passive-aggressive games to jolt us into doing what we have to do. In my case, it is trip prep.

So, my nightmare.

Picture it: I am in the airport waiting to board my plane. As I am rifling through my suitcase, it dawns on me that I have packed the most obscure items (and, note, not Islamicly (is that even a word???) appropriate): tank tops with sequins, high heels, one running shoe, a snow cone, a blazer (ok, that is at least professional), and a bunch of punk rock t-shirts (I don't even OWN punk rock t-shirts!). I start to freak but recall that I DID at least remember to bring my credit card, so I can just buy some clothes when I arrive. WHEW!

As I begin to close my suitcase, the next hiccup. My medications. For those of you that know me well may recall that I am a migraine sufferer. And those enjoyable Chinese-like torture headaches tend to rear their ugly little heads while traveling internationally. Long flights + little sleep = a giant ice pick being gouged into Karla's skull. So, once again, I begin to panic. But, no worries people. I phone the only person that can help. MOM. Good old mom. What is life without mothers, really? They can fix anything. And, in this dream, she did. Somehow, one cell phone call away, my mother manages to contact my neurologist and have my prescriptions internationally FedExed to Bahrain waiting for me at the hotel for when I arrive. Gosh, she is so good. Tragedy #2 resolved.

Then, over the loud speaker, it is brought to my attention that my flight has been re-routed. Instead of a 9 hour flight to Frankfurt with a layover and connection to Bahrain, they changed it to a lovely (please note sarcasm) 20 (!!!) hour flight to Bahrain. Direct. No stops.

Yuk.

I board the plane with my heart rate slowly returning to normal. I locate my seat, place me little travel bag beside me, and buckle myself in. Eagerly awaiting the entertainment of the flight attendants educating us on what to do if the plane should crash into the Atlantic Ocean. Thank goodness our seat cushions double as flotation devices. These flight attendants are SO smart!

That is when it happens. That is when my nightmare becomes a horror movie from which I just

could

not

escape.

I turn to my left. Sitting next to me is the one person in the world that would cause me to shoot my brains out on a flight. He will make me go postal. His laugh IS the worst Chinese torture device.

God help me.

I am sitting next to Eddie Murphy for 20 hours.