please be sure your seatback is in its full and upright position

I hate flying. So naturally I chose a school 3000 miles away on the opposite side of the country. Everytime I fly it starts off pretty much the same: the flight attendant comes over the intercom asking that everyone focus their full attention to the tvs for emergency evacuation information. Immediately I sit up a little straighter, trying my best to retain all the info. Frantically I look around and notice that NO ONE is paying attention! EXCUSE ME MA'AM, could you at least OPEN YOUR EYES?! Why is no one as concerned with safety precautions as I am, I wonder. I mean, there's noway I can pull off this emergency water landing by myself! Omg, wait, I missed that last part! Crap. Who's going to inflate the slide now?! Wait, we're still on the ground. Okay, breathe. I make a mental note to myself that even if we WERE allowed to secure someone else's oxygen mask before our own, I would not help that lady with her eyes closed. Her indifference is appalling. After taxing, the engines fire up and in sync, so does my blood pressure. That lady's eyes are STILL closed. How can you be that relaxed at a time like this?! If my eyes aren't open then obviously we will drive off the runway and into a ditch. At this moment I pause to acknowledge that I may have control issues-but that's besides the point because we're in the air and I suddenly feel a tightning in my chest from forgetting to breathe.

Once we're at our cruising altitude, I can usually relax until landing arrives a whole 5 hours away. On this particular flight at this time I can appreciate that the steward on the intercom sounds like John Travolta in Hairspray. Even when the woman next to me spills her entire can of diet coke on my lap, I stay zen (at least it was diet!?). It's just now brough to my attention how incredibly exhausted I am, but sleep is out of the question. I'm known to confide deep dark secrets to anyone in the vicinity of my sleep environment. Thank God that's usually just Megan who takes my blubbering about firemen and apples as humorous and endearing. But I doubt that the businessman in front of me would like to hear about my latest crush-nor do I really care for him to know. Sure, his head is 10 inches from my lap thanks to his reclined seat, but I mean REALLY-we hardly know each other on such an intimate level yet. So sleep is out. That leaves mindless tabloids, Vogue, and Cosmo to devour. Are we there yet?!