On the plane, when looking out the windows, I feel excited, like I did when I was younger on Christmas day, waking up in the morning.  Maybe it's the feeling of something new, or maybe it's just the thought that I'm 15,000 feet above sea level; my life in peril at every moment.  Yet, I feel little fear.  You have to ask yourself before getting on a plane, "Am I ready to die at this moment?"  Of course, that's a bit overdramatic, you are more likely to die in a car accident than in a plane. Outside the windows, the clouds are vague objects, trying to resemlbe something I've seen before, in a white, fluffy form.  When there is sparse cloud cover, it looks like I'm running into the ocean, the foam at the end of the waves coming towards me.  When there is high density cloud concentration, it's more like I'm navigating the ocean in a boat, and the sea is filled with gigantic, oddly proportioned icebergs.  It's great staring outside. The planes on TV and movies, as much as they try to seem real, are complete frauds.  You never see the aging plastic molding, the dirt and grime lodged where plastic and coated aluminum meet.  The stench of the airline food (it's like fetid meat with eggs) never comes across the screen.  And yet, it's not that bad.  As far as rides go, there has been little turbulence and it is relatively quiet, mind the engines of the plane. A month or so ago, I would have been praying for a midair collision, the burnout of all four engines would have been favorable.  Not that I'm any better as far as moods go, but I don't want to die, I have a few things still to look forward to. I've been thinking about that running girl lately, who I see occaisonally when driving home from work (and who I'm somehow associated with by friend of a friend)  I just want to meet her, to get an actual chance to talk to her.  I doubt it, but I can still hope. "This is your captain speaking, prepare for a feiry end to your meaningless existence." "Mr. Durden, you are the most interesting single serving friend I've ever had."