Don't pressure us, Anxiety.

         I have to tell you something.  I know there hasn't been a post for two weeks, and this is kind of over due.  I was no fun last Monday, so I didn't really think posting would be a good idea.  I thought it would be better to wait for inspiration.  So, yeah... I flew to work again today.  I'm pretty sure I almost died.

This was my most "dead" picture

        First of all, I had to get up at 0530 this morning, so I was almost technically dead when I walked out to my town car.  (That's right- town car, jokers.)  Second of all, when you fly in a tiny plane, there is almost always turbulence, and that makes me feel like I am about to be dead.  (See above picture.)  

        So, yeah... remember that time I thought I was cool because I flew to work?  I'm over it.  I have it on good authority that there is a legit prescription for flying that keeps one from becoming a born again Christian every time the plane hits a weird air pocket.  I even have a friend who has the perfect calculation for her "happy pill : glass of wine" ratio.  Still, we all know it's not cool to pop a Xanax before work, and when we hit turbulence this morning,  I was stone cold sober.  My stomach did that roller coaster drop thing, and I knew it was the end.  At that moment, my iPod blasted an Angels and Airwaves song, "Don't pressure us, Anxiety-  I'm a passenger.  So dangerous, Anxiety- just a passenger."  I felt like I was about to be a made for TV movie on Lifetime with a way skinnier person playing me.

Belly up

        I don't think I saw my life flash before my eyes, but I had two strong thoughts racing through the old noodle.  Dear God, I'm sorry for everything!  and I didn't kiss Eric before I left this morning.  (Truth  be told, I spent the 0400 -0500 hour kicking and punching poor Eric in his sleep because he was snoring me awake! Oops.) With the wind tossing our toy plane around like a rag doll, it took all of my will power not to give the grandpa next to me a death clutch around the ulna and radius region. (Don't be gross! They're arm bones, you pervs.) 

Right?

        I wasn't worried about God so much, as I was that I hadn't kissed Eric.  You can call me sacrilegious.  Call me a heathen.  But guess what, if God is out there, I am certain he or she would hear me.  And if he or she is a God worth believing in, then I know I would have found love and forgiveness should this have been my last morning on Earth.  Call me lame.  Call me a drama queen, but I would never be able to kiss Eric again if that freakin' plane crashed.  Can't live with that one.

       Hey fools, don't forget to kiss your favorite person(s) before you go to sleep tonight and before you leave the house tomorrow morning.   Obvi.

My two faves