Travelling and I do not get along well together. Like, at all.
One of my bfs broke it off with me after a disastrous Mexico City rendez-vous en route to Belize.
I got lost in the airport. Luckily we were not in Thailand which was his first choice.
It is not that I hate flying. I do hate flying but I am not afraid of it not really.
If you crash well, its quick. Burn, baby burn.
It is the being in a strange place, a strange bed, a grid unknown that upsets me. I get losts easily. I say right and go left. I look up and fall down. I trip over curbs. I end up in inner city ghettoes whilst looking for the Ritz. All of the above. South Central LA was one of my more notable screw-ups. I was looking for Hollywood. No kidding.
I can get an expedited passport if a fee of $75+ is paid.
If I get the passport than I can go on holidays AWAY FROM HERE!
Someone else can hold the torch for a bit.
It is so tempting.
But there is that nasty dyslexic thing.
*shiver*
Scary monsters in my head
Scary monsters in my bed
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