Off to St. Louis tomorrow. I look forward to the work. I like to pretend I'm important, give my presentation, brainstorm, talk strategy. But I would almost rather WALK than get on a plane. I know, I know. Today Sage tells me I have to take a random flight, daily for 22,000 years to officially hit my time to die statistically. He also tells me my carrier has never experienced a fatal crash. My response? So they're DUE? That's my anxiety in a nutshell.
I could drive the 11 hours, but I can't stand the thought of the anxiety winning like that. Besides, who has that kind of time for neurosis?
If I survive, I'll blog my tale of triumph against the anxiety, as opposed to the "odds." Odds are I'll want to barf during landing. This I know.
I could drive the 11 hours, but I can't stand the thought of the anxiety winning like that. Besides, who has that kind of time for neurosis?
If I survive, I'll blog my tale of triumph against the anxiety, as opposed to the "odds." Odds are I'll want to barf during landing. This I know.
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