I am terrified of flying. TERRIFIED. The idea of getting on an airplane literally makes me sick to my stomach, and I can feel my legs getting shaky and wobbly just typing it. It has nothing to do with 9/11 or terrorism or anything else like that — I have been petrified of flying since well before that. I don’t like not being able to see the ground. I’m not scared of heights because I can be in tall buildings or ride on Ferris wheels without a problem. When you’re 30,000 feet in the air, you can’t see anything below you but clouds. Or if you’re flying to another continent…the ocean. Oh goody. I understand completely that it’s an irrational fear, that I’m more likely to die in the shower than I am in a plane crash or something, but I don’t care. If I can’t get there by car or by train, then I’m not meant to see it. I can live with never seeing Australia or even Hawaii. There’s plenty in the continental United States I’d like to see before my time on this rock is up.