I hate traveling.
Like a lot.
I am 100% a destination girl.
I compulsively need to arrive at the airport two hours early, despite the fact that I have never ever needed that much time.
I pop a Xanax an hour before departure, because I'm terrified of flying.
I preform breathing exercises during take off and landing, because I'm anxious the Xanax won't work. (It's called meta-anxiety, being anxious about being anxious and it's my cross to bear...)
When we've finally stopped rising drastically and taking sharp turns and other acrobatic feats in the air, I spend about 3-5 minutes looking around. I turn on my phone and then turn it off. I glance at my Kindle and then away. And then I say to Jacob: I'm bored...
I'm a watch checker. Every 10 minutes until I realize I'm about to drive myself crazy (which would be quite anxiety inducing), until finally I find an arguably horizontal position a little less than totally uncomfortable and drift in and out to an every half hour watch check.
I try to make my flights 2 hours or 16 hours and avoid anything in between. It needs to be over soon or long enough for me to accept that this is my existence now.
Really, I wish that security was the only part of flying. I'm good at security. So good. Like a TSA ninja! I walk up to the buckets and suddenly there is a flurry of buckets all over the place. Outwear! Liquids! Laptops! I fly into the tube of detection and FREEZE. arms over the head.... And GO! And stop! wait for the signal.... DONE!
Ninja.
But then I emerge off the plane. stupid flying box of improbable doom. I rarely check baggage so I don't have to bother with baggage claim. I just try to leave the airport as quickly as possible.
I'm a destination girl.
But there are some days, some fateful days, where there is no one waiting for me and I have to navigate....
Airport Transportation!!!
Dun dun dun.
To be continued.
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