Saturday, Oct 4
Been doing a lot of flying this year for work--each to/from destination usually involves a pitstop at some major hub (like Atlanta), so each one way trip involves two flights. I'm currently waiting for my last flight this trip--number 6 of 6 in 20* days. I never used to be bothered by flying, but this year the weather makes for flying unfriendly skies. Up, down, up, down, a little turbulence . . . MORE turbulence. The last few flights I've taken (and I'm talking since a really scary flight about two weeks ago) I now stop looking for the exit closest to my seat and instead look for how easily I can see the stewardess's seat from my own . . . because I know if she's nervous then I, too, have actual cause to be panicked.
When we take off and the ground starts dropping away into a patchwork of development, I wonder now how far I'll fall before hitting the ground thousands of feet below in a horrific, firey SPLAT! and if everyone will die on impact or if there will be any survivors. How much will it hurt before I die? I just keep watching the crew, forcing myself out of panic solely based on their facial expressions.
I don't think I like flying anymore. If they would just give me a parachute and a pair of goggles when I board I'd feel a lot better about falling out of the sky--even though I'd pass out from lack of oxygen if I got sucked out of a plane at 30,000 feet.
*Edited number of days out from 13 to 20, because 13 days does not 3 weeks make (the length of time I was out for work travel). . . apparently my math skilz phail hardcore, yo, when I'm dead-off-my-ass tired. Go figure.
Hahaha--'go figure' with a math reference! I amuse myself . . .
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