Dialing down

"Please don't need me too much. Please don't need me too much." The sentence spoken at least a half dozen times. Rapidly. In an anxiety stricken voice. Face buried. Body folded. And he thought, what does it mean? And what could possibly be the yardstick?

Westward ha

I'm flying to Arizona this weekend. Later in the week, I'm flying to Burbank. Then I'm flying back to Arizona. On the weekend, I fly home. I hate to fly. Every noise is a harbinger of disaster. I can vividly imagine the wings shearing off, the cabin coming apart, me being flung about the plane while uselessly buckled into my seat. I hear the screams and I see the ground spinning impossibly fast toward me.
If I was allowed to fly the plane, I know that I would feel much safer. Especially after a pitcher of bloody Marys, extra spicy.