Up in the air

Edgar and I made the decision a few weeks ago that we would fly to Indiana this year for Christmas. I saw my parents at Thanksgiving last year, but other than that, I haven't seen any of my family, with the exception of my aunt, uncle, and cousin that live here in California, since Edgar and I got married in September 2008. So by the time we get out there for Christmas 2010 it will have been over 2 years since the last time I saw my brother, my sister, my two adorable nieces, and my dogs. Yes, even though I haven't lived with my parents for five years, I still consider their dogs to be my dogs.

Except now, I'm just concerned about even getting to Indiana in the first place. Flight information recently became available for the dates that we are going to be flying, and I'm convinced that the universe is trying to kill us. There is ONE non-stop flight between LAX and the Indianapolis airport on the dates in questions. That is a red-eye. I've taken that flight before. The memory of the screaming children and the busted air-conditioning is enough to make me swear off night flights for the rest of my life. Except that every single other one-stop flight has a layover in either Chicago (and who the hell would ever intentionally go anywhere near the airport in Chicago at Christmas time without a gun to their head) or Cleveland (also risking lots of winter storms and frightening delays). But the worst part, the ABSOLUTE WORST PART, is that every connecting flight is on either a tiny Embraer plane or on a Turbo-prop.

That's right, a plane with PROPELLERS.

I guess I should probably take a moment here to say that I am terrified of flying. I don't know why. I never used to be. But as I've gotten older, the excitement of flying just went away and now I'm just really concerned with the possibility of the plane that I'm on just falling out of the sky.

I know that I'm being unreasonable. I know that there are laws of physics that keep the thing in the air. So I shouldn't be worried. Because laws are unbreakable, RIGHT? Oh, except all of those times when they are broken, so you might as well call your laws of physics "Oh, that physics thing that my great-uncle Albert kept talking about, but we all thought he was crazy because of his wacky hair" thing.

So, you can imagine the heavy knot of fear that fills up my stomach whenever I look at airfares and see that the only way to get to my family is by strapping myself into a tiny little death tube with 36 other people and hoping that a slight gust of wind doesn't spell t-h-e e-n-d for me. The flights between Chicago and Indianapolis and Cleveland and Indianapolis are so short that they are essentially comprised of just the take off followed by "we'll shortly be beginning our descent into Indianapolis" but that does nothing to allay my fears. Because I might be on a plane with PROPELLERS. That's right, PROPELLERS. The exact same model of plan that crashed in New York last year because the cold, icy weather was just too much for it and the pilot didn't know how to respond to it's safety features in the event of a stalled engine. WITH PROPELLERS.

And even if there weren't propellers, there would still be Chicago, and the fact that the hour and half layover that most of these flights offered would not be nearly enough since it's pretty much impossible to catch a connecting flight out of that airport on time during the holiday rush.

So the universe either wants me to die or for Edgar and I to spend Christmas alone with the cat. Not fair.