Downside of Traveling

Although I truly do love traveling, there are a couple of things that I've come to dislike. Flying is one of them. I hate the paranoia that I'm going to miss my flight. I hate the security check and trying to get all of my crap into the little tiny bins as quickly as possible so that the 500 people waiting behind me won't mutter curses at me. And then there is the actual flight where half the time I'm stuck in the middle seat, which is slowly but surely causing me to develop claustrophobia. Also, driving with Kristie everyday (who screams every time she sees break lights or a low-flying plane) is causing me to become more nervous about the plane actually crashing. I have never once bothered to pay attention to the safety instructions delivered at the beginning of the flight. This time, however, I paid close attention just in case the plane actually crashed and I was forced to push open the emergency exit and stay alive by using my seat as a floating device.

Also, I hate coming home and finding my things not quite as I left them. Yesterday I realized that my full gallon of milk was gone. This morning, my shower gel. Last time I traveled Laurel ate an entire bag of chips and dip and yet another towel was ruined. (And, I have yet to work up the balls to ask her about the towels and what exactly it is that she does to them, and to the wall.)