Thursday, July 11, 2002


I am a nervous flyer. I don't need to be drugged to get on an airplane and I don't go psycho in flight, but I really don't enjoy flying. Ironically, I feel most relaxed during take-off and landing, the most dangerous times, but I get spastic hitting turbulance mid-flight.

"We have nothing to fear but fear itself." And that's exactly what I'm afraid of. I'm afraid of fear. I'm not really worried about crashing. I'm worried about the plane ripping in half and getting sucked outside. (hey, it could happen.) If the plane crashes, I'll be gone instantly. But up until that very last split-second, while our 737 is nose-diving from 30,000 feet, there is always the chance that the pilot will recover the craft and bring us to safety. There is always hope. But if you get sucked out of the plane, you've got about 3 minutes of freefall. That's 3 minutes of absolutely postively 100% guaranteed knowledge that you don't have to worry about whether or not you left the iron on when you left the house. "They" say you'll black out first. Unless "they" have tried it themselves, "they" don't know what they're talking about.

Crashing is easy: Am I gonna make it? Am I gonna make it? Am I gonna... *crash* Getting sucked out of the plane is: I ain't gonna make it. I ain't gonna make it. I ain't gonna make it. For 3 minutes.

At that would just plain suck.

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