Traveling Is For The Birds
This is where I tell you that if you have flying fear or are traveling soon or just dislike really tasteless humor about plane crashes, you should hit the back button now. I sometimes deal with stress in weird, callous ways, often by offering terrifying facts or making inappropriate jokes about real issues, and if you're offended or freaked by that sort of thing, feel free to nope on out of here. Consider yourself duly warned.
Also, this post has exactly zip to do with writing. If this seems like a waste of your time, no hard feelings.
Everybody organized? Okay.
I am a nervous flyer.
I didn't used to be. I was fearless when I was younger. I even thought it was fun. Then I had a hellish flight to Germany when I was 18, and the turbulence was awful the entire way. At one point the beverage cart actually went flying into the air, and I was holding hands with the random stranger next to me. By the time I hit solid ground I was swearing I would never fly again. Of course, I had to go home eventually, so that didn't work out, steamer ships not being as available or comfortable as they used to be.
The flight back was perfectly reasonable. But it was too late. I've been a Nervous Nancy ever since.
Some context for this next bit: in addition to making inappropriate jokes to relieve tension, I also tend to deal with stress by educating myself. I feel better if I can anticipate what's going to happen next, even if it's ugly. My husband is the exact opposite--talking about a thing before it happens seems like a waste of energy to him. He's cool with denial. For example, when I tore my ACL and got a bone bruise (yes, that is a thing and it is insanely painful) doing one of those fun runs in the mud with monkey bars things (which, for the record, NO), I was on the internet an hour after the ER visit looking up the percentage of cases that ended in surgery, and he was like, it's really lovely weather despite your knee being the size of a watermelon, but also the WEATHER!)
I mention this because I'm traveling by myself this time. I'm going back to Missouri to see some family that I haven't seen in ages, and I'm really looking forward to it. It's going to be one long extended girls' night, but with three generations of chicks. So probably strip clubs are out. Which they would've been anyway--I'm not a fan. But I'm especially not a fan of going to strip clubs with my oma. Would be awkward, I think. If they lived near enough that I could drive there, it would be perfect.
I haven't flown without my husband since we got married (we're generally inseparable. It's super annoying to our families), and he always spends most of the flight trying to distract me like I'm an irascible toddler. He holds my hand and tells me I'm pretty and shows me videos of kittens and baby turtles and takes ludicrous stances about who should be the third-line center next season for the Penguins (the correct answer, in case you weren't sure, is not GUENTZEL). It's incredibly helpful.
But this time, it's just me. Which is why there's inappropriate humor in the story of how my husband came home yesterday to find me researching how to survive a plane crash. I was like, "Hey, hi, how are you, did you know that your chances of surviving the crash are fifteen percent better if you sit in the back of the plane?"
And he was like, "God, whyyyy are you doing this to yourself?"
And I was like, "Because I want to live, damn it."
And he was like, "Why are we talking about this? What's wrong with you? Why can't you just deal with it by pretending nothing bad ever happens? You know. Like a normal person?"
And I was like, "Also, you should wear comfortable shoes in case you have to trample the panic-stricken or leap over corpses."
Which is when he left the room. I guess I can't blame him. I was kind of being a troll with that last one. Although they really do say you should wear comfortable shoes. Apparently flip-flops are a death trap in a plane crash.
(All tasteless jokes aside, I like to think I'm not the person who would leave the panic-stricken to die in a post-crash plane fire, but the video sincerely and legitimately told me to. It said that statistically I'd have 90 seconds at most to exit the plane before the chances of dying by fire went through the roof, and burning to death is on my top-5 list of ways I refuse to go out. I don't want to be an asshole, but if my seatmate doesn't come with me the first time I slap him, he's on his own. (That actually ended up back in tasteless joke territory somehow. Look, I'm really nervous okay?))
After that, I watched two hours of YouTube videos about people getting rescued out of broken roller coasters to make myself feel better. Planes are almost certainly safer than roller coasters. Probably. I should look that up.
Anyway. I'll see you when I get back. Assuming I live.