Norwich, CT – “Nightmares, Turbulence & Alarm Bells, Oh My” – Travel Day – August 28, 2001

Two nights ago, I dreamt I was backstage at The Wolf Den — tonight’s gig. There I was, sitting in a dimly lit green room while the guys waited for me on stage. That’s when it hit me—I’d forgotten to write a setlist. My mind scrambled as I sat paralyzed, trying to remember the names of my own songs. “Red… Red what? Oh, right, Red Room.”

I woke with my heart cantering out of my chest.  these types of anxiety-fueled dreams are a recurring guest in my subconscious—especially when we’ve had more than an 8-day break between shows. I’ve dreamt I’ve forgotten how to sing, I don’t know the words to my songs, that someone’s stolen my capo, I’ve lost my guitar/pic/tuner, and of course, every once in a while, I have the traditional horrifying naked on-stage dream (which has, in actuality, already happened to me — twice.)*

Fast-forward to yesterday. When we boarded our first flight (to Chicago) I felt a little woozy.  Even seven years after the plane accident in Peru, I still get a bit terrified before flights.  I paced the aisle, sipping from a jug of water till take off.  After that, I was fine.  We had individual TVs on the seatbacks in front of us and the choice of three movies! Kenny and I huddled in Row 41, emotionally synchronized to one another, watching Shrek. Delucchi opted for ‘Shark Week’ and Soucy and Dino chose poorly in ‘Benny & Joon,’ whose viewing was cut short by an on-time arrival.

We had an hour-and-a-half layover at O’Hare and sat on the perimeter of gate C31 sandwiched between a Starbucks and a Hudsons newsstand.  Surrounding us were a sea of cymbals, guitars, drums, stray bags, and a traveling classroom of uniformed Chinese students. Kenny read. Delucchi ate Swedish Fish (loudly).  Dino warmed his drumsticks on the carpet and Soucy busied himself with a crossword puzzle from the Hemispheres in-flight magazine, shouting clues like, “Ten-word Beach Boys hit!” or “What’s another word for ‘crag’?”

I worked on a song started earlier in the morning.  I hummed quietly, holding my half-busted, sandwich-sized recording device to my ear and scribbling lyrics in my journal with a chewed-up Marriott pen.

Screenshot

Our second flight was delayed two hours on the tarmac due to thunderstorms. Rain lashed against the windows, and some 30 planes queued motionless ahead of us. I sat next to Soucy, still soldiering through his crossword puzzle and made it my mission to “help” him by shouting answers from my own magazine copy. “CUTE!” I bellowed triumphantly at 88 Down, earning eye-rolls from Soucy and laughter from the guys. Soon, everyone joined in, turning the crossword into a loud, rowdy group activity aimed squarely at annoying The Doc.

Once airborne, the storm clouds put on a breathtaking show. Lightning split the sky, casting electric veins across the night. It was mesmerizing. I looked past the storm into the glistening city below.  It unfolded like an intricate circuit board of lives — From the air I tried to wrap my brain around all those people down there, each living lives as complex and stressful and complicated and confusing as my own, perhaps more so. I sent them a silent prayer.

While a luxury, flying to gigs is far more arduous and anxiety-provoking. Touring in Moby, our biggest concerns are leaving someone at a rest stop, getting lost, or running out of gas. Flying, on the other hand, amps up the stress.  We have to worry about losing instruments, missing flights, canceled/late planes, connecting with ground transportation, and of course falling out of the sky to our untimely deaths.

By the time we landed in Hartford and reached our hotel in Norwich it was 3 a.m.  It felt like we’d traveled halfway across the universe. A sign in the elevator apologized for the fire alarm testing slated to start the next morning at 11am. I searched every corner of my bag for earplugs but came up empty-handed. Defeated but not deflated, I stayed up watching I Love Lucy reruns on Nick at Night until 4 a.m.

The next thing I knew it was morning and the promised fire alarm jolted me awake.  Red flashing lights flared in rhythmic spirals under my door and a flat mechanical voice repeated, “May I have your attention please. May I have your attention please. There has been an alarm reported in the building. Please proceed to the stairways and evacuate the building. Do Not use the elevators.”

Too tired to move, I fumbled for the in-room coffee maker, brewed a bitter cup, and sat back down with my guitar to pick up where I’d left off on that song from the airport.


Footnote:

*You can read about my unfortunate naked forays in the spotlight here:

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One Reply to “Norwich, CT – “Nightmares, Turbulence & Alarm Bells, Oh My” – Travel Day – August 28, 2001”

  1. Everyone has had those kind of work related dreams. I’ve had dreams where I was assigned to a course and didn’t realize it until the end of the semester etc. I’ve never had real or imagined “naked” dreams. But I did once find myself teaching with a sock stuck in my pants leg! All anxiety provoking but good for a laugh.

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