I am crazy scared of flying, especially ever since 9/11, and tomorrow I will embark on a journey to New York. On a plane. For 8 hours. 8 hours of me staring suspiciously at everyone, treating every child as a potential bomb pinata and lying in fetal position in my seat while compulsively repeating "Everything is fine, everything is fine, you're not going to crash and burn and die at all, everything is fine" while laughing hysterically. You know, the mature way to handle phobias. I keep googling statistics on the percentage risk to die in a plane crash (1:6000000), which should be reassuring, except that I just know that I will sit and expect to be that single lucky one to die strapped to an uncomfortable seat with an annoying child kicking me in the back until the very moment we crash. However, the internet comforted me by informing me that "it's a comfort to know that to die in a plane crash is remarkably likelier to happen in a developing country than in any of the economically stable countries". It's like the Wall Street security blanket; to go down crashing, but at least be consoled that this will probably happen to some poor people as well sooner or later.
On second thought, I'm probably okay with crashing with a plane. I mean, then I can buy tons of those expensive sodas and peanuts and fancy champagne and then, because we are crashing and dying, never pay for them. Ha! In your face! Guess who's laughing now!
Oh. Right. No one. Because I'll be dead.
(If I actually die tomorrow, this will be such a cool post and I will get tons of readers. Immortality is so easy, suckers.)