Sunday, June 12, 2011

To Fly Or Not To Fly

Two years ago I had a dream that I was on a plane to Chicago and the plane crashed. That has been my most realistic dream, to date. I woke up that night and swore I would never fly again. A dream that realistic could only mean one thing; I was going to die if I ever stepped foot on a plane again. I'm nothing if not level-headed and realistic, myself. All joking aside, the dream scared me. I really couldn't help but ask myself, "What if this is a sign?" Thankfully I'm not a jet-setter and I had never had a reason to visit the mid-west, much less Chicago. So planes have been easily avoided. Until now.

Pete has been working in Illinois for the last month or so and will continue working over there for the unforeseeable future. He'll be there long enough that a visit from me is unavoidable and truth be told, dream or no dream, I really want to go visit him. I miss him... But I'm back to freaking out over that ridiculous dream because where am I flying for the first time since that dream? Yep, Chicago. And when I say, "freaking out." I MEAN freaking. Out. Straight up panic.

What's a girl to do? Drug myself beyond coherency? Drive two thousand miles? By myself? In three days? Suck it up and pray, pray, pray?

Suck it up because I already bought the plane tickets? I think we have a winner.

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