This morning we are flying to New Orleans. Now, I'm not particularly afraid of flying. The height doesn't frighten me, and I have a good enough grasp of physics and particularly of the concept of lift that as long as we've got both wings and functioning landing gear, I'm pretty sure we'll be alright. I get anxious about other things: making it to the airport on time, getting to the right gate, having enough overhead compartment space left after all the jerks with their ridiculously large "carry-ons" that I could practically curl up inside of have hogged everything.
But what really concerns me about flying is simply this: how long I'm expected to sit in one place. Seriously? Three hours? No standing up or anything? I mean sure, maybe there's the one trip to that horrid little bathroom. But if you try to dawdle in the aisle you'll have a talking to from Nancy or Gwenda or Steve, your "friendly" flight attendant. On the bright side, I now get to travel with my man, my fiance, who lets me lean on him and doesn't care if I take off my shoes and always gives me the window seat. But still. I generally can't stay in one position for more than about three minutes. And given the very small range of motion allowed by the typical airplane seat, I run out of options pretty fast.
I try to keep myself distracted. My pain has been so varied from day to day lately, who knows where it will go today? Most of my pain medications are upsetting my stomach right now, so that doesn't seem the best route before getting on a plane (to say the least). I suppose all I can do is hope for the best, and concentrate on the payoff - that once it's over, I'll be in my city, where I can relax in air conditioning and drive around in a car (instead of riding the subway) for a whole week.
And hey, maybe there'll be a good movie.