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 g...