There is nothing like an impending flight to make you assess your life up until said trip in a flimsy metal contraption that is very, very high up in the sky.
It is not that I am scared of flying. It is more a fear of death/not being around. I am so freaking nosey – all the things I will miss out on if I am not here! Of course I would want my husband to move on. But not too soon. And she will not allowed to be hotter or smarter than me.
But as I mentioned above it causes me to look back on my 32 years. I have and have had a really nice life. My family is generally whole, my childhood was sunlight and dust mote filled, my love life wasn’t rent with any particular betrayals or scandals, I went to university, I traveled Europe after my beautiful wedding, my friends give me joy and fulfilment. I have written a book, that if anyone so desired, only (hopefully) needs a bit of tweaking before possible publication, if not for the fact it is any good, but for nostalgia’s sake.
If it was my turn to go, the only thing I would be sad about would be not having insects with my Beloved husband.
I don’t think that being in a plane crash would be an ideal way to meet my maker, but shit it’d be a story told in the family for generations. I have also heard that if compensation is sought by the relatives, they often get quite a lot because of the psychological trauma the deceased would have suffered knowing they were going down. That might just be in America though.
Anyway. If I am meant to go ‘young’ , if it is not in a blaze of glory, this way it will at least be in a blaze of some sort.