Hells bells. The reason I leave up that sick post that I wrote while under the influence of Ativan is to remind me of what can happen. Being told of my behavior, and even having snippets of it come back to me through the fog was not enough to keep me on the wagon while in the air (that’s not altogether clear, is it?). But seeing the phrases, “I am a nomad but not the kids…” on my own blog is, I think. I like to go back and read it when I’m feeling pale and need some color in my face. What a dumb-head I am.
Zach (my oldest) was in charge of me on a flight to god-only-knows-where when I took an Ativan, then got nervous, thinking it didn’t work, and took another one. You have no idea. I have no idea. But Zach does. He says I was bad. Like a little devlish kid bad. Andy had put him in charge. I do remember the stewardess having jewelry that was sparkly (my weakness) and matching. I reached out to touch her bracelet and Zach chastised me harshly, “You do NOT touch the flight attendants. It’s a federal offense.” I wasn’t really touching her. I was touching her bracelet, and only just a little.
While she was serving the other side of the aisle, I reached for something and zach slapped my hand. “You do NOT touch the cart or the flight attendant.” He turned away in exasperation. I reached out with both hands and touched the tops of all the little baby pop cans, keeping one eye on zach. He turned around at the same time as the flight attendant. He didn’t think I was funny, but the flight attendant smiled at me. He’s not the boss of me.
That’s about all I can remember from that flight, which was, if I ‘m not mistaken, to Ecuador. There should be way more to that story, based on how long it takes to get to Ecuador, but I have no recollection.
Andy likes to describe me as some kind of pack-animal when I’m drugged. I can carry things, I can walk, I can follow direction. I will stand in one place if he tells me to. For hours. And when he comes back, we move on.
The second time I used the ativan on a flight home, I was sleepy but I didn’t feel too dopey. I came home, got a good night’s sleep and called my sister in the morning. “Hi. Just wanted to let you know I’m home and I’m fine.” She paused. “We had this conversation last night, Lisa. You don’t remember calling me?” Nope.
I guess that’s why Ativan is sometimes called the amnesia drug. I can’t for the life of me figure out why anyone would take Ativan recreationally.
Drugged dialies, drugged fondling of flight attendants and pack-mule status weren’t enough make me fly drug-free. But by god, the sentence “I am meant to be a nomad, but only the kids that travels by foot. no wheels or boats or wings.” sure as hell is.
Later I will tell the tale of how my drug free flight went.