Musings while taxi-ing

12 14 05
We’re on our second flight and I’m finding myself a little tense. I think it’s because I don’t’ usually fly on planes this small. The fear is entirely irrational but its fear nonetheless. Writing about it has calmed me a bit. I think too much. Actually I think I may be getting claustrophobic, coupled with my irrational fear, it’s making for an interesting cocktail. I can’t listen to my music until we take off, so I’ve got to cowboy up. The pilot just applied the breaks suddenly, and I got a mental image of some other plane cutting him off. (after which he would of course hand out the window and shake his fist in the air, while calling him an asshole) (in a New York accent, naturally). I’m upset I didn’t bring my monocular. There were some pretty great views to be seen. We’re taking off. No, someone else is taking off. We’re waiting. Looking at the big planes makes me calm. Here we go… *Death* just kidding. We’re still waiting. I suspect our tiny plane got bullied to the back of the line by the bigger ones. Waiting… The waiting is making it worse. Aahh! The girls next to me is writing in her journal and her writing is much better than mine! My pages always look like the ravings of an angry chimp. Still I like the hurried look, and my girlfriend liked that my notes to her were always (here we go…) (well that was faster and smoother than the big planes) very expressive in their writing style.