I Flew to Arizona Yesterday

I had a 6am flight yesterday for a quarterly meeting at the Big Client's office in Arizona. I stressed myself out about waking up at 4:15, but mainly I was a little nervous about flying - again. I had spent twelve hours telling myself flying is no big deal. Pff. It's the take off, mainly, isn't it? And the landing? Oh and any turbulence in between. So, the take off was ok. I tried to read through it, but found myself putting the paper down and burrowing deeply into my mind; snuggling as far down as possible. While escaping the surface thoughts, it's interesting what I came up with. In the brief ten minutes I was mentally deep-sea diving, I managed to come up with a clear-cut family budget revision and a three-year life plan. The rest of the flight was uneventful though I did have the where-with-all to WRITE down the plan my mind had just handed to me. For the flight home, I walked onto the plane confidently. I told myself that there was no need to freak out about the take off. I'm fine. Which kinda worked. Until we hit some turbulence on the initial decent into LA an hour later. I was sitting in the aisle seat next to two big young men possibly on their way to a Laker game. When the turbulence hit -- a nice initial jolt, then more -- I reactively kicked the guy in the middle. His friend at the window seat jarred awake and grabbed the middle guy's arm. We had made him into a turbulence sandwich of our fear. The middle guy joked to his friend, "Dang, man, why are you screaming?" The Window Guy looked at me and said, "I didn't scream, did I? Tell me I didn't scream." I smiled, "No. And sorry I kicked you, Middle Guy." I spent the last 15 minutes of the flight mentally screaming for the plane to get me home. It took a lot of restraint not to let it slip from my lips. The moment we landed, Husband text me, "Are you Ok baby?" Which I thought was generously sweet until he text: "You didn't hear about the plane that went down in NY, did you?" Uh no. I hadn't. I may still be in Arizona now if I had. Hey, guess what I bought and sold at work today? Crime-scene evidence bags. Mmmhmm, the kind you put shell casings and pubic hair in. Rob said, "I wonder if they want us to source fingernails and semen with these?" Why did we buy and sell these bags? We don't ask.