In control

Walking is my preferred method of transportation,  I chant over  and over as I fly high above one of the Great Lakes. Walking is my preferred method of transportation. I get emotional and want to spit on something when a cruise ship is mentioned. Motorcycles stink and trains are too precious. 

The lakes are gone and have been replaced by clouds. I know that the Rockies will appear soon. Once, the day of my grandfather’s funeral, I left the gate before boarding a plane and rented a car and drove for 12 hours to get home because I was suddenly terrified by the idea of flight. What if I drive over the Rockies the next time? Cars are so useful but walking is still my preferred method of transportation. Cars have to be maintained and cleaned and traded in and judged. My knees are still working well and so are my feet and my thighs. I can’t trade them in and would not want to at this point. But they have their limits. 

The seatbelt sign is back on and the captain has said something about some bumps. Walking is my preferred method of transportation, I chant over and over as I bite my lip and clench my body, posturing in my seat in preparation for unpacking my bags or for sudden death.