Friday, 11 November 2011

Come fly with me.

I hate flying.  It scares the shit out of me.  Unfortunately I have to fly home every weekend and then fly back. It is causing me no end of stress. I think about flying all the time now.  And even when I am not thinking about it, I am really.  I think about the plane crashing into the sea, the cabin filling up with water and me there with the inflatable life preserver around me shoulders.  I'd be gripping the string, ready to pull it and inflate the jacket, the words of the air steward "never inflate your life jacket inside the cabin" echoing through my head.  But in the panic I'd pull it and then drown and have no one to blame but me self. Sometimes I imagine the plane blowing up, this happens just after take off. It spontaneously combusts and we are all blown to bits. I see the pieces flying around; blood, guts and body parts.
Every time I get on the plane I am convinced that it's the last; this time I will die, the plane will crash. I once went to text my husband while I was waiting for the other passengers to alight.  I was about to press send when I realised what a death sentence that would be.  You don't send texts saying: "see you shortly" just before a flight.  You're tempting fate, asking for an accident.  See you shortly - yeah right, see you in hell more like. Phone goes back in pocket.  Everyone's on now, plane's about to take off, rumbling down the runway, does it feel a bit more bumpy then it did last time? Did the air steward's voice sound strained when she told yer man over there to turn off his iPod? Is she feeling a little stressed? Maybe she's a little distracted today and not fulfilling the safety procedures? I pull the belt pull tighter around my waist.  Then it's lift off, my heart leaps.  My fingers dramatically grip the handles and tears start to pour down my cheeks.  The person beside me squirms in their seat, uncomfortable with my outward display of emotion.
Told ya to put the arm rest up.
Eventually I calm down, we're in the air now about ten minutes. I can start my in-flight distraction ritual.  I take out my magazine and the bowl of salad I bought in Boots. I start reading an article on Tom Cruise.  Then have a fork full of Salmon, mmm tasty. The author talks about meeting with Cruise and what a presence he is, how he can work a room and make everyone feel important and loved.  I picture myself meeting Tom Cruise. Wow! That would be amazing. I don't even like Tom Cruise, who does any more?  But I am enjoying my little fantasy all the same. Tom shakes my hand, I start to cry.  And I am crying.  In real life now. Uncontrollably. What's wrong with me? The plane shakes and I grip the handles of the seat again. Like that's going to save my life: "It's ok! She's holding onto the seat, sure you may as well give her life jacket to someone else, this girl's invincible."  I love landing. That bit doesn't scare me.  Sometimes I think about the plane skidding on the run way and splitting in two.  But it doesn't bother me so much. I reckon I'd survive that. 

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