Hotel bedding. Huge issue for me. Enormous. It started when I was a little kid and has gotten progressively worse. I used to bring t-shirts to sleepovers and at night when the lights were out I'd slide it over my pillowcase. I needed a barrier between me and the sheets. I hated the smell of another person's pillow. And to have that smell so close to my face? No. Of course that transferred over to hotels as I got older.
I love to travel but I am paralyzed by this insane fear of the bedding. So I travel and I spend most nights sleepless, wrapped in a cocoon of over sized hooded sweatshirts and sweatpants. I look like the angry barrel-chested Goth girls that hang out in front of the Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square. (Minus the marionette-like bungee strips of material that connect to their waist and ankles. What exactly are those things?) I toss and turn and stress that I am touching too much of the sheets, unable to chill the fuck out and sleep. It sucks. I cannot control it and I feel myself projecting it upon my kids. Not good. It may be the entire travel thing and this is where I put all my energies into, fear of the sheets. I love going places, seeing new things, getting the hell out of suburbia. It is the execution of it that makes me a mental case. Plus throw in three other bodies that I have to prepare for. It is a nightmare. I also hate to fly. But I love being there. I love the getaway, the change of pace. My husband needs it to unplug, I love seeing him enjoy himself as well. My kids love to go away. However, my stress leading up to trips, and my sleeplessness on trips is affecting them.
Something needed to be done. I took a big breath and put on my best "I need medication." outfit and went to see Dr.Z. She heard me out, I heard me. I sounded like a squirrel on crack. I was a nervous wreck. My realm of medicine is a thin layer of Neosporin over my lip when I wax and an Advil or two when needed. She listened, shot up her brows a bit when I told her what my fear was about. I am not going to find many people that do not agree with the proven fact that hotel sheets are creepy no matter how nice the place is. You aren't going to go down to the local park and invite Lyle Morrisey that lives in #345 over to lay in your bed. You know him. He's the one that never lets his cats in so they have started using the 5 season-ripe swimming pool to shit in. They crap by the illumination of the year round Christmas lights. If I am not sharing sheets with Lyle, I don't want to share sheets with the rest of the planet either.
She understood, she sympathized. She checked my vitals. Weighed me. I noted that my Wii Fit is off by 8.2 lbs. Fuck you, Nintendo. Wondered in my head why the doctor does nothing for her female pattern baldness. Realized she may not be able to do anything. Felt guilty about my Rogaine knee-jerk reaction. Stared at the small lubrication vial. Yeah not tube, vial. It was lying on the top of the trash. Wondered what was going on with the person ahead of me that they needed lubrication from a vial. Wtf, man? That stuff is standard tube issue, right? They needed something extra slippery. Scary. She wrote me a script. Mentioned the thought of talking to a psychiatrist about it. Which I will do if it manifests itself into another fear, but right now I am pretty certain I just hate the gross sheets and getting prepped for a trip makes me mental. Pretty simple stuff. I plan to try it out the meds before I head to Moncton, New Brunswick later this month to attend a family party. 4 nights accommodation in a hotel. If you have been to Moncton you realize that I am testing this new drug thing out on a high hotel sheet skeeve factor. I will post photos of the rash. Promise.