(Okay, before we get started, let’s have a moment to have a happy little freak out over the fact that I’m typing this up while sitting in the airport. Yes, I am aware that this is not, for the vast majority of people in my class, a major innovation. It is, however, special and awesome to me. I love my tiny, tiny netbook.)
I find that the older I get the more anxiety I have getting on planes. I’m not sure why, and it doesn’t keep me from sucking it the hell up and getting on, anyway, but there it is. Dread, dread, and occasionally further dread. Especially when the flight in question involves not being with Nathan. (Somehow his presence manages to soothe 99.7% of my strange neuroses/paranoia, regardless of the occasion.) So here I am, completely and thoroughly excited to be flying back up to Portland for the first time in over two years, to see a bunch of people I care desperately about, and yet my stomach is a pit of roiling (say it with me now) dread.
I will be fine once we get in the air, of course. It’s just all this sitting around ahead of time that brings me face-to-face with my own mortality, and whether or not I have anything that will hang, chain-like, from my ethereal neck should the plane go down. This often leads to a lot of gate-side, occasionally tearful phone-calls for me to tell people I love them. Yes, I am That Girl. Don’t judge- we all have our moments of Completely Irrational, and I can think of far worse than a compulsion to tell people how I feel about them. Today, however, in spite of my roiling stomach, I find another layer of myself almost serene- no last-minute phone calls, because I feel fairly confident that those people that I need to know I love them do know I love them.
So at least I have that going for me.
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