Every time I survive air travel, I kiss the precious Earth and swear grave oaths about ever boarding such a contraption again. I beseech nebulous powers whose existence I remember only when convenient. You would think that after so many successful sky journeys I would become enamored with the convenience and efficacy of it, but the way I actually perceive it is that I have an unknown (but limited!) number of flights total before I die in one, and each trip merely winds that diabolical mechanism.
