Next Friday afternoon I’ll board a plane for Ireland and all I can think of – besides “omgwtf I haven’t even started packing” – is “omgwtf am I doing, I’m going to die. The Mc won’t even be with me and we’ll never get to build the cabin and I still haven’t gone swimming with turtles and who will give the boys mani-pedis and and…”

I blame him completely.

Apparently nearly 4 years of being with a man who gets hives at the mere mention of boarding a plane has turned me into a ragingly unstable, paranoid lunatic.

Never having thought of myself as an easily influenced person let alone a person easily influenced via the osmosis like transmission neurosis of her partner, I am disgusted. Disgusted, disheartened, confused, lost, disturbed, a little pale though reasonably well groomed, and oh, did I mention disgusted?

My mental bags are packed. The itinerary is set, passport and car rental and plane tickets all printed and waiting to be put into a yet to be determined piece of luggage. Am I avoiding packing because I’m inexplicably freaked out or because my tripod won’t fit in my wheely bag and I’m frustrated I’m going to have to go buy another one?

I’ve always adored travel! (see exhibits a b, c, etc.) Especially solo travel (though this trip won’t be solo it also won’t be with The Mc) and travel to far away beautiful places and omgwtf I’m bringing my camera with me this time and last time all I had was a half dozen shaksy disposables and it’s going to be awesome…so could someone please tell me what filthy bar toilet seat I picked these voices up from so I can go back and sue the cleaning service?

Did the plane landing on the Hudson and the chopper colliding with a small plane and countless others falling from the sky screw me up, or can I legitimately blame The Mc?

I ask because blaming him is easier to stomach than me just getting old and scared all by myself. I’m not capable of such heinousness.

So here I go, typing it all out hoping that talking about The Boogyman (capitalization is called for in a case such as his) will make him less real and keep my plane in the air.

Quick. Someone. Validate me!

I’m starting to get greedy in my old age.

Maybe greedy isn’t the right word – maybe hoarding. Fiscally conservative. Bitter.

I was thinking this morning about how I shouldn’t have to pay taxes that go to schools. I don’t have kids, I’m not going to have kids, so why am I paying for schools?

The argument that pedestrians shouldn’t have to pay for interstate maintenance is equally valid, though far more silly and not a true apples to apples comparison/argument.

That said, I can see the value in schools and their educating the little people already in surplus. More educated children with bright futures = less aholes breaking into my car or my friends houses. Right?

So okay. If you won’t vote for a tax break for me based on non-consumption, then how about this: how about a yearly dividend rewarding me for not having children?

I’m a contributing tax paying citizen, not using the playgrounds, schools or government subsidized after school programs. No children = no little people bringing home germs = me not calling in sick nearly as much as colleagues with children. I’m also not putting an additional strain on the food chain, producing an extra large carbon footprint hauling LP’s to and from soccer/gymnastics/therapy. I’m not disposing of thousands of diapers, I’m not sitting next to you in a restaurant ruining a meal, and I’m certainly not going to be falling back on any government funded health care or food stamps for my 1:many children.

So…how about a little somethin’ somethin’, you know, for the effort?

Saw someone do this on Flickr recently and thought I’d give it a go. It’s harder than it looks – both to not feel like a complete tool when you’re snapping shots of everything you do, and to remember to do it. I petered out right before our 7:00p movie.

Click here to see individual images and notes, if you’re so inclined.