There are people who "don't like" to fly.
There are people who say "flying makes them nervous".
There are people who say they "are afraid to fly".
And then there's me.
For me to even pass through the Revolving Door of Hell at the airport entrance, I must be so high on pharmaceuticals and alcohol that I need a "handler".
I have tried flying sober. I have tried "relaxation techniques" and "positive visualization". It is a damn miracle I didn't wrench the emergency exit open mid-flight. My heart pounds, my palms sweat and suddenly I have the acute hearing of a Doberman pinscher:
WHAT WAS THAT? Was that the engine shutting off? Oh God, there's no engine. We're going to die. And what was that noise? The landing gear malfunctioning? What if we lose cabin pressure? What if there's a bomb in the luggage? What if that stewardess is an Al Queada operative who's been training for this moment to kill us all with a deadly poison in the airducts? I bet she's already made her suicide video. What if a bird gets sucked into the engine? What if someone opens the emergency exit in panic in mid-flight? Oh, wait - that's me.
SO.......the medication plan is as follows:
1 Xanax in car ride to airport
3/4 of a water bottle filled with chardonnay at check-in
another 1/2 Xanax waiting for takeoff...
= "Me? I have no froblem plying."