Sparks Ignites

I don’t do well at airports. There’s complete system overload just to get from point A to B. My official travel preparation begins with dirty martinis and Xanax. I’ve diagnosed myself with  Air Travel Hysteria. As soon as I drag my suitcase to the check-in line, I question my decision to travel.  Why do I want to be propelled to 35,000 feet in an aluminum tube? I’m feeling extreme pressure already and I’m going to enter a pressurized cabin. I’ve seen coke cans spring a leak in better conditions.  Oh God, will my luggage tip the scale like the Biggest Loser who’s binged on Twinkies? I cheer it on and smile proudly when it’s under the weight restriction. With a tear in my eye, I watch my new hard-shell beauty disappear into the black hole of baggage handling.  Will it be there when I reach my destination? Images flash in my mind of me standing in LAX, while my lonely boxer briefs are circling the baggage carousel in Poughkeepsie. When it does greet me, like a brave so