In less than five hours, I will be on an airplane. That plane is flying to South Dakota (through Denver). I am going to the wedding of one of my best friends.

I am excited to be in South Dakota, to hang out with some college friends that I haven’t seen in years, and to have breakfast with my parents Sunday morning.

However, I am not excited about the journey.

I hate flying.

More than anyone I know. I have felt sick all morning, knowing that I have to get on an airplane.

For years, I have had nightmares about plane crashes, fire balls, falling out of a broken plane, being on the ground while burning corpses rain on me.

I know that this is mostly irrational. That flying is much safer than driving on the 405 (or anywhere in LA, really), and that I have a greater chance of being struck by lightning. Although the architect has been struck by lightning, so when I fly with him, I am both reassured by his presence and scared shitless that since he’s already done the lightning thing, he’s going to be in a plane crash and he’s on the same plane as me!

I fly 3-4 times a year. Enough that this flight to South Dakota was only $10, because I had enough frequent flyer miles (plus almost 1/2 flight’s worth leftover). So, obviously my fear is not such that it affects my life. Because I love to travel. I’m just the annoying person that is certain every bit of turbulence is a sign that the engines are failing.

Also, every single flight I take to South Dakota goes through Denver. And I hate flying into Denver.

Plus, in addition to my exciting “psychic of the mundane” powers, I have the magic ability to generate thunderstorms in every location that I am flying in/out of. Including Los Angeles, a place not well known for the summer thunderstorms.

And? I apparently fit some kind of terrorist profile, because I always get searched. And I almost always set off the metal detectors. I’ve been taken to special rooms to make sure I didn’t have weapons under my boobs more than once. I’ve been felt up by so many security people, that I’ve lost count. And I’ve never really recovered from having my carry-on searched and the security person holding up a pair of red thongs and commenting on them. That was embarrassing.

Is it too early to start drinking?

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