While it cost nearly a hundred bucks to change my ticket, I evacuated Connecticut at 6:45 this morning. The Storm of the Century is coming, dontcha know. It's such big news, even internet diarists are beginning to cover the event (or nonevent  as it may turn out to be). I was hugely disappointed to leave early, but at the same time, relieved to avoid airport snarls due to snow.

On the way to Connecticut on Thursday, I spent a good portion of my preflight time convinced the plane was going down. I was so sure of this, in fact, that I seriously considered calling and leaving Hula a voicemail message at work prior to my demise. Knowing he would receive news of the plane crash at home that evening, and because he would be so overcome with grief it would be at least two weeks before he returned to work, he wouldn't receive my message until well after the funeral. I wanted it to be a funny, poignant, "voice from the other side" sort of goodbye, including a few scary woooooooooooos, and telling him how I wouldn't change not even one minute of our time together. I wanted to make him laugh and cry, thus ensuring he'd love and miss me forever. I became teary eyed just thinking of it and sufficiently spooked myself into really being sure those were my last few moments on the planet.

The problem was, I couldn't leave the message. The airport was crowded and there was no place to go for privacy. My desire to leave my husband one last voicemail from beyond the grave was overruled because I feared someone would hear me. Well, that and because there was only one TV picking up Survivor--even if there was a place to go, I could hardly leave my primo spot right up front to make the call during a commercial. Someone was supposed to be airlifted off the show and I had to know who it was! Twenty seven TVs at that terminal showing Who's Line Is It Anyway and only one showing Survivor. You guess where the crowds were.

Of course, the good news is, the plane didn't go down. I'm continuously surprised each time my plane lands safely, but that's not the point. If I was right and it did go down, Hula would not have received his goodbye message because I was watching Survivor. You guess where my priorities are. 

I spent a significant amount of time feeling badly about this, so don't judge me too harshly.

All this got me to thinking about how much I worry and fret and "worst case scenario" the minutiae of my life, and it reminded me of some scanner art I made commemorating my affliction when I lived in New Orleans. (It actually reminded Hula of the scanner art. I was ready to forget this experiment, but you are viewing it upon his suggestion. I'm pretty sure he wants you to hate me. Or to at least to mock me in a merciless and unforgiving manner.)

I spent about a week after this pretty sure I had given myself cancer by putting my head in there.