I gripped the armrest of my tiny window seat and fought the tears back. I could see the baggage guys loading bags down below and I fought the urge to fog up the window and etch "HELP ME."
It was hour 4.5 of the entire journey home from Phoenix, I was exhausted, and we were on an hour delay. It was one of those layovers where you're forced to stay on the plane, too.
There were two babies under a year old on the flight who were equally as unhappy to be stuck on this plane. A woman sat down next to me who wanted to know everything about me, kept peering over my shoulder to ask what I was reading, and inquired from start to finish about my game of words with friends. It was another full flight, elbow to elbow, and the mother of the two month old moved her seat to directly behind me before takeoff. The babies behind me echoed my unhappiness and played off of each other for the entire flight. When one would calm down, the other would start up.
It was pure, unadulterated hell.
When I finally got home at 2am last night, I threw my arms around K and have never been happier to be home. I think I'll stay home and postpone any cross country flights for awhile, at least unmediated.