That is, a big day dealing with me. Flying.
Me alone is a handful. I recognize that (first step). Me flying is your basic nightmare. I hate flying. I mean, I really, really, really, really hate flying. I find it unnatural. I find it terrifying. I find it to be a terrible experience that no one should ever have to endure. Like socks, shoes, and a summer dress.
It’s ironic with Chuck being a pilot and all. All he used to do was fly every day, many, many times a day. At first it was little planes, then it was big commercial planes. Him flying never bothered me. But, him being a pilot did not, has not helped with my issues. In fact, I always joke that it’s made it worse: I know what the guys in the cockpit are like. Therefore…
But for the record – and this always kills people – I LOVE flying in little planes with Chuck or our friends. It’s commercial flights that I can’t handle. I know. It makes a lot of sense. Don’t try and analyze me or you will end up being the one who needs analyzing.
Basically, flying with me is a real treat.
Lots of hand wringing. Lots of “what’s that sound??” (usual answer: “landing gear” and a slight eye roll). Lots of face winces and gasps. Be there turbulence and I be basically inconsolable.
Last week, I was so mid-panic attack about flying to DC that I went into total meltdown over Burger King being closed at SeaTac. It was one of my best performances. Crying. Stomping. Threatening to go back home. Pretty normal day-of-flight stuff. (Let me explain: I will only eat at BK in an airport because a)I’m a picky eater and don’t like to eat at places I don’t know – seriously, I have so many issues, it is exhausting; b) actually, it’s really just “a”. I don’t like new things. I wanted BK before the flight and that was that, but it ended in a complete meltdown and a train ride out of the main terminal to the one remaining BK on the entire SeaTac campus. Issues…)
Tomorrow, we fly home. Good luck Chuck.
I am a wreck. I have spent all day trying to convince Chuck we should drive home or take the Panama Canal, which I hear is beautiful this time of year. I think these are reasonable requests; he is not even entertaining my ideas. Apparently, this portion of our marriage is not an equal partnership.
The other problem in this whole “I hate flying” situation is that I don’t get much sympathy. I don’t get the “I know, flying stinks, let’s just make the best of it.” Oh no. I’m flying with Mr. Airplane. I’m flying with the man who at age three drew an airplane picture and said “Chuck’s home.” I’m flying with “Anyone want to make the plane stall?? Anyone?” I get no sympathy.
Maybe that’s all I want. Sympathy. Maybe that’s why I’m writing this. Someone tell me they also hate this because the guy next to me is no help. No help.
Tomorrow, he will be some help in that he won’t leave my butt on a curb. He’ll answer every question. He’ll explain every noise. He’ll deal with my crazy. He always does.
Last round of pics from DC:
|A flag at Arlington National Cemetary|
|George Washington's Mt. Vernon|
|Inside Washington Cathedral|
|The Washington Monument at night (duh)|
|Us "garage sitting" at Mt. Vernon. We're pretty sure the Washingtons were big fans of garage sitting like the Allisons are.|