Finally.
I’ve applied for a passport. I will no longer be trapped inside the borders
of my own country. Slightly ironic since
anyone can get in, but actual citizens can’t get out.
But I digress.
I’ve never gone anywhere far, far away. I’ve been to Canada half a dozen times, but I
have yet to go any further west than Toronto.
Shocking to some people, I’ve never even been in an
airplane, at least not one that left the ground. Oh, I have thousands of excuses beyond my
control, and they’re all valid in my mind, anyway.
First of all, I don’t like heights, so anything higher
than a ladder is going to make me nervous.
Secondly, I don’t know who’s flying the plane; maybe it’s some novice or
maybe it’s some dumbass who misses the airport by 150 miles. I don’t know who’s servicing the plane’s
mechanical system. Worst of all, I
cannot tolerate being shut inside a tin can, mostly because I hate enclosed
spaces, but also because I’ll be stuck inside with people. That’s right: People. People who get air sick, people with
screaming babies, people who want to talk to me when all I want to be is left
alone. In turn, these poor clueless
people will be stuck with the likes of me.
I am a control freak, and soon, in four to six weeks, I
will be a control freak with a passport.
I’m not sure if this reality will tempt me to actually get the hell out
of Dodge, but at least now the possibilities are endless.
Finally.
