I hate flying.

It is simple. No matter how hard I pray, no matter how many times I fly, I hate it. I cannot help it. I try and say oh this time it will be different. Nope. Every time the pilot says flight attendants prepare for take off, my stomach drops, and heart beats about 1 million times a minute. I pray, I can't sit still, I wonder how I will live if we crash in the water. Will there be sharks? Jellyfish? Other bodies that have too fallen down with an airplane? Then there is the thought of a crazy person on the plane. I always try to see if I can spot them. Like I would have any idea what a bad person would look like. Now the secret is out. Yes, sir I am sorry I was staring at you. You do have long hair, and you were checking your bag quite often.

Any who. This is just something that I don't think I can ever let go of. I mean why do people like flying? You are sitting there minding your own business when all of a sudden, the plane DROPS and you don't know where your stomach is anymore. It takes me at least 30 minutes to bring myself back to reality when IT HAPPENS AGAIN. I have a feeling that 3/4 of people that fly take some sort of prescription drug and drink heavily to pass out. I, on the other hand have to be alert because if something happens with the plane I am ready.  Am I the only one that still listens to the flight attendants every time they do their safety spiel? I also back that up with looking at the guide just in case I forgot how to put the oxygen mask on. Oh and flight attendants don't worry about telling me to put my mask on before putting others on. That was already my mindset. I mean if I would let my child get stung by a bee just so I wouldn't, I think I can manage putting myself first when a plane is going down.

Why did God give me this life of world traveling when I am scared of everything? I mean if I could sleep with a ninja turtle nightlight for the rest of my life I would....