When I was a kid, I used to love flying. It was something new and cool-- you're flying in air! Plus airplanes (and airports-- I used to love going to airports too) always meant I was going somewhere, somewhere cool. Going somewhere is always fun. As I got older and did my fair share of flying, my love of flying dissipated but I still didn't mind it. Oh, I minded the occasional claustrophia and the occasional mind-numbing boredom, but I was alright with it. And most importantly, I was never scared of flying.

Now that I'm older and should be wiser, I have come to the point where I realize I hate flying. And it's not just the lack of comfort or crappy food. And it's definately not boredom as I have way too many things to occupy my times. It's just that I am now scared to death about flying. The moment turbulence hits, I start in with the Hail Mary's and I'm not even Catholic.

Take today's flight. We had the occasional turbulence on and off but things got pretty hairy at one point. As the plane started to rumble, I told myself it can't be too bad because the fasten seat belt light hadn't gone on yet. Then it did. And then I told myself it can't be too bad because the pilot hadn't told the flight attendants to sit down and buckel up yet. Then he did. And just as I was calming down, the pilot came on to describe what was happening and that we should not only buckle up but tighten the seat belts even more than we normally would.

No, I wasn't happy.

The thing is that it's not necessarily the thought of falling out of the sky (although the scene of the plane breaking up in "Lost" did enter my mind a few times). It's more of a control thing. If we go on a roller coaster, we know it'll be over soon. Scary drive? We can always pull over. Scary ski run? We can slow down. Scary plane fight? Not one damn thing you can do about it other than pop more tranquilizers and order another bloody mary.

And sometimes that doesn't even work.