Not being in control scares me the most. When the plane is preparing to land, I slam my foot down on the imaginary brake in front of me to help out. You’re welcome other passengers.
I try to not make a big deal about the actual flying part; I don’t really need to add to my neuroses. I have a routine and that seems to help. I guess routines would make a lot of things in my life easier, but I just find them so…routine.
I have started to make my bed every day, so I guess there’s that.
Bobaloo won’t just drop me off at the airport, he actually walks in with me and watches me go through the security checkpoint and waves goodbye when I go down the escalator to the tram. Sometimes before that, we’ll sit at the bar and have a couple of farewell beers.
I touch the outside of the plane before I get in and pray for a safe trip. I buckle up and get settled in my window seat and usually don’t make small talk with the person next to me. If it’s a turbulent flight, I try not to make other people nervous. I do not leave my seat, ever. I have never been in an airplane bathroom.
I put my headphones on and read a book. Usually, I can’t focus enough to read for real. So I pretend to read a book. Pretending to read is relaxing too. I downloaded some new tunes for this trip.
It takes me an hour and a half to get where I am going.
My dad picks me up and takes me straight to the bar for a couple of drinks before heading back to the house where my mom is waiting.
This post makes me sound like an alcoholic. I’m not. I just really don’t like flying.