Arizona! Thank God you're still here!

(transcribed from handwritten documents)

So I'm on the plane and I thought you'd like to know that this is the worst flight ever. Non-stop from Baltimore to Phoenix. That's a whopping 4 hours and 45 minutes. I figure you would also like to know that this is a Southwest Airlines flight, which means I have no leg room, no butt room, no anything room.  Oh, and it's a packed flight.  Every single seat is taken.  Good thing I'm not extremely claustorphobic or anything.  (For those of you who have not heard from me long enough to forget my incredible sarcastic wit, the previous statement should be read as "I am extremely claustorphobic".)  Did I mention I get airsick?

Night flights are lame.  When all you can see are miniscule dots of light out the window, you don't feel like you're getting anywhere.  It all looks the same.  The only positive thing about night flights is that when you look down on all of the lights below, you can pretend you're above the solar system looking down at the stars. 

The little girl sleeping next to me is digging her feet into my leg and the guy in front of me keeps moving his seat back farther and farther.  I feel like I've been here for hours and hours and hours not being able to move.  Our brave leader has said nothing of our whereabouts since, "we're flying over St. Louis.  It'll be on the left side."  Of course, I'm on the right side so I didn't even get to see St. Louis.  Not that I would be any less bitter if I had.

I began this day by reading the Washington, D.C. personal ads.  Basically I lost faith in humanity before noon today, EST.  That, my friends, is a record.  But only because I'm usually unconscious before noon.

My personal ad:

                                   SWF, 19, tall, slender, blond/blue, likes reading, writing, crosswords, dislikes people, shrill noises, suffocation, math, ISO literate, loner-type, SM, who is a non-smoker, doesn't ask what I'm thinking or why I'm laughing, can appreciate poetry without attempting to write it, employed, non-affectionate, guitarist.  No conservative republicans, stalkers, idiots, or Amish.  Are you my Prince Charming?

According to the detailed map on the back of my Southwest Airlines napkin, St. Louis is almost halfway to Phoenix.  Should someone inform the pilot that I should be home right now?  I feel like I'm in that Twilight Zone episode where the people in the airplane go through the time warp and they don't know how to get back to present day so they just have to keep going and going until they run out of fuel...

Did I mention that this is day one of my monthly miracle?  And that by the time I get off this plane I will have gone through menopause?  Twice? 

Seriously, I might scream.  This is a nightmare.

LANDING IN 30 MINUTES!  OH THANK THE GOOD LORD ABOVE!

(end of transcription)