In 26 hours I’ll be aboard an American Airlines plane on my way from Los Angeles to Boston for college. Let me be frank about it: I despise flying. I’ve never liked it. It’s funny to think that after taking ten flights in the past year (six of them across the nation, four in the span of a week-and-a-half) I’m always thinking of the worst. The thing that gets me most: I don’t know why. I don’t know why I panic so much. I just do. I fuckin’ hate it.
It’s only a five-hours-and-a-half flight. Don’t be afraid, Diego. You’ve done it before. Just pack a few sandwiches in case you get hungry during the flight.
Another thing that gets me is that I’ve been busy packing and all that stuff and I haven’t made time to call my close friend C. I’ve wanted and promised to call her since I came back from Mexico, but haven’t had time. Agh.
I’m sorry, C.