I don't like the Madras airport. It's hot. I don't think the AC's working. And maybe it's just me but everyone here looks really depressed. Ugh. I hate the heat. But I hate the cold too. Can't figure out which one I hate more. And my jeans, which were loose when I left Delhi, have become uncomfortably tight. I think I overdid it on the pancakes and the sausages.
I still have another forty minutes to go before boarding. I'm flying Paramount Airway, business class. Not as good as it sounds because apparently the entire aeroplane's business class. I know how these bastards work. Basically it's going to be the same as the economy class in other airlines. They've just called it something else to make passengers feel special.
I really hope my flight doesn't crash. I hate take off especially. When the plane's going up, up, up, with it's nose towards the sky, I always get the feeling it's going to stop moving and come crashing down. Landing's not too bad, because with every second you're getting closer to the ground and so, chances of survival are increasing (that's what I keep telling myself anyway). Just to be on the safe side, everytime the plane touches the ground, I always raise my legs slightly so if something decides to tear through the linoleum covering the floor, it won't tear my feet apart at the same time.
I think I need psychiatric help. I blame my family, I really do. And my dysfunctional upbringing.
Funnily enough, I'm actually looking forward to going back to Delhi. I'm happy there now. I was re-reading the entries I wrote last summer and it was all incredibly depressing. I wish I wasn't so morbid.
On the bright side, I haven't bitten my fingernails for twenty four hours. This is a record.