Jonas in the belly of a whale, not a teenage girl

I have a lot of things on my plate, including a trip to ALASKA tomorrow. Not that my Xanax will prevent a plane crash. Did someone say Xanax? I know it’s the night before, but maybe I should get a head start on the drugs. We’re talking about the same cross-country travel plans that I tried to coordinate via railroad, but it turns out Amtrak doesn’t go to Juneau. You would think that expressing my fears about flying in a blog post would be therapeutic, but no. I only imagine CNN picking up the story about a young blogger dying in a tragic plane crash shortly after predicting said plane crash online. She must be some kind of clairvoyant, says CNN, with flattering photo. I only have one thing keeping me motivated: whales. They’re waiting for me. And they have way more to be worried about than I do. But look at them, fearless, still whaling it up. God, I just want to feed them and caress them and dock on them. If they can travel to Alaska, so must I. If only their journey involved Detroit airport, Seattle airport, TCBY, Cinnabon, Sbarro’s, Us Magazine, a tiny bottle of vodka, then they might understand. I will be fine. Seriously, don’t worry about me. Unless you’re selling sedatives, in which case meet me at the Richmond airport at noon.

6 Thoughts on “Jonas in the belly of a whale, not a teenage girl

  1. Bon voyage! Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.

  2. Blog comment travelogue:
    Sat with nice older man on flight to Detroit. Told me about his wife’s medical problems. Allowed me to grip his arm when the plane shook. Flight from Detroit to Seattle lasted about 30 minutes. Found out later it was four/five hours. Thank God for pills/alcohol combo.

  3. Should I take this to mean the Darren is Home Alone? Do I need to supervise him? By supervise, I mean have drinks with.

  4. I, too, visited Detroit airport this past weekend where I would have had to break out my own suppy of Xanax if the goddamn planes had to taxi 20 miles instead of the required 19 to reach their destination — the f**king runway (or the f**king terminal, depending if you were coming or going).

    And I didn’t get to see any whales! Grrrr!

  5. BTW, Darren was with me the night he got his head cracked open. I administered first aid (wet paper towels). Hell of a guy, your man. : )

  6. oh, lordy, how i love the drugs for flying. you cannot drag me on a plane without them. i highly recommend the Klonopin.

    oh, but really, don’t worry . . .

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