Sometimes flying is good. It gets you where you need to go quickly. The ride is smooth and you don't have to drive. Sometimes, though, flying is harrowing. My dad actually nearly got his pilot's license so I know what all the bumps are, but still. Sometimes, like today, it feels like the pilot's going a little too fast, feeling a little like we're on a sheet of ice and we will not be able to stop . . . for anything . . . not even that large building there. Add to that a few big bumps, a dodge and weave and you've got a recipe for bleh. I honestly thought I was gonna puke for a minute. And I was surrounded by so many dudes who smelled just a little rank after the flight. And I was near the back, so it took forever to get off the plane. I tried deep breathing, but the rankness interfered.
Then I deplaned, headed immediately to the restroom and wondered if I should splash my face or not. I wondered if I looked pale or green (neither, it turned out). I wandered rather aimlessly looking for ginger ale since my flight was delayed over an hour. How can you not have ginger ale? Failing at that mission, I plopped myself at the gate. Now I'm thinking, good FSM, I have to go through this again? What was I thinking? All I know is I'm distracting myself with the in-flight movie. I'm not trying to do anything intellectual like I was doing before. Working on the dissertation? No way. Reading Don Delillo? Not that either. I was punished for that. I think I'm also having a drink as soon as I get to the Hyatt, even if it is midnight my body's time. So there.