I'm not sure when I developed such a fear of flying. Or maybe it's just a hatred of flying. It's probably a little of both, wrapped up neat in a headache-shaped package. It never used to bother me. I used to take pictures out of my window seat of americana from thousands of feet above, I used to catch up on all of my reading and writing, I used to dare the plane to crash because that would really be something wouldn't it.
Nowadays I can't get the phrase "flying death-tube" out of my head. I can't have a drink because more and more airlines are demanding exact change and really who has exact change anymore. I can't wrap my head around the physics of taking off and turbulance patterns, and how turbulance isn't actually just someone walking heavy down the center aisle. Reading gives me a headache, I'm not allowed to turn on my ipod during takeoff even though I could really use the music as means of relaxing (my ipod has nothing to do with your flight transmitters thankyouverymuch), and the people are getting wider and meaner.
I still like the idea of flying, I love everything encompassing a vacation, it's the mechanics that are becoming troubling. The routine. The more settled my life becomes, the more I need valium. Why the panic, well why not.
Anyways, here are some pictures of puppies:
elsa.
buster.
momo.
reuben.
bonus picture of elsa and dad, because I like the picture.
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