I live in the west and had to travel to California this summer. Originally, I thought about flying there.

Then...I thought about the luggage restrictions (the last time I flew, I had to pay extra because the luggage weighed too much – how do I figure that one out – what NOT to take), the take on restrictions (I carefully studied the online gov’s picture of take on fluids), the standing in line, standing in line, standing in line, the dragging/wrestling my luggage through one end of the airport to the other nightmares I've had to go through before, the getting searched, the scrutiny at rather personal items in my luggage or take on (it's a tampon, damn it, and nothing sharp is hid in it, swear! and it's supposed to blow up.), the re-entering and re-entering again and re-entering again the metal detector after taking off most of my clothes (it MUST be the metal in my underwire bra), deep concerning looks and scrutiny at my driver's license (I cut my hair and it's nearly expired - hey, I was young when that picture was taken!), or passport (same thing), the trying to find overhead space that is actually close and not at the back of the plane, the squeezing my knees into the chair in front of me, the sudden sardine feeling of claustrophobia locked in those little teeny seats (and I may have a few pounds but not close to being weighty, yet), the guy in back of me with his knees in the back of my chair, the guy in back of me pushing on my chair, the young children who ALWAYS sit next to me with their colds, the colds I always catch from those young children, the sudden heart attack jerk of the freefall of several hundred feet as the plane hits turbulence over the mountains, the can’t read my book because the kid next to me keeps wanting to talk to me and mumbles to such an extent that I can’t quite understand what he’s saying, the negotiation because the kid always wants to sit in my window seat (not going to happen, kid, it’s mine!), the guilt at not letting him sit in my window seat, the not drinking anything so I don't have to get up to pee and climb over the now sleeping kid (God forbid he should wake up and start sneezing on me or mumbling again), the not being able to watch the movie because I either can't see the TV or the sound in my chair is broken, the not wanting to see the movie because it's so stupid, the sitting/waiting, sitting/waiting, sitting/waiting to get a chance to get into line when the flight ends to get to the overhead to get my carry on to get off the plane, the inadvertent banging my head on the overhead lockers as I get into the aisle, the waiting, waiting, waiting in line in the aisle, the wandering around trying to find the right luggage carousel, the waiting, waiting, waiting watching that damn carousel go round and round and watching for my luggage which even though I put that bright red sticker on the handle so I would recognize it looks exactly like the one that guy grabbed over there, the ‘oh my god, he did grab my luggage’ chase and negotiation over it’s my luggage, the guilt in finding out it’s NOT my luggage, the everyone else has got their luggage and mine’s that last one that “pops” out of the baggage birthing canal with a bang no less, the lost luggage thing, the dragging/wrestling with my luggage to the rental car place, the haggling over yes my insurance company does cover rental cars questions (you sure? Yes, I’m sure), the waiting, waiting, waiting for a rental, the wandering and dragging/wrestling my luggage around the wrong car rental lot looking for the number that matches the keys they gave me, the trying to find exit to this strange airport (whoops! On the wrong freeway and can't get off for hours stuck in deep traffic moment)....and then having to do that all over again on the way back.

Needless to say, I decided to drive to California instead. I'm so witchya, Opus.