I Swani

I think I'm developing a fear of flying. The fear has been honed slowly over the last few years and expontentially increases when A. Flying into Boston B. Flying on a small plane. On my trip home I had drifted off listening to Rihanna and woke when one of my ears popped. For some reason this cause me to immediately tighten my hands around the arms of my chair and look to the flight attendent for signs that she was pretending not to panic in order to keep us calm. Now, I realize I had no reason to be worried (you know, like any explosions, broken wings, or "prepare for a water landing" announcements) but I'm feeling like perhaps I should start taking about 18 valium before I set foot on a plane. I'm not even sure that valium is even the right drug. Ugh. I hate myself sometimes.

My flight home was from Raleigh, North Carolina, where I had spent the last 4 hours exploring the neighborhoods of Hunter's childhood and eating mexican food with Lindsey Kronmiller. Him and I (with Granny and Aunt Clara in tow) had arrived that afternoon after several days spent wandering between the beach, the pool and the house on Top Sail Island. The whole family was there, and I met them (well, besides Garrison) for the first time, one after another. Not what you might expect to be a relaxing vacation, but it was. I could feel my brain melting into a happy pool as I jammed spoonfuls of sweet potatoes and homemade baklava into my mouth.

We watched something like 8 episodes of The Office (season 2.) We saw A Mighty Heart, Coal Miners Daughter and You Me and Dupree (I feel asleep for that one.) I had fried okra for the first time. I realized that I needed a new bikini if I ever wanted to jump around in the ocean again. We watched other peoples fireworks. I got dusted in freckles without getting a sunburn. I bought a book on depression glass at the antique store.

I didn't want to leave. I wanna go back and lay on the beach and watch the pelicans fly overhead in a straight line back and forth. I want more of this: