Tempestuous (adj.): Tumultuous, Turbulent, Stormy

I am alive. "Yes, of course you are. You're typing at this very moment, after all." Okay, lippy, enough with the sarcasm. You weren't the one on the cursed journey of United Flight 1208 (in best stewardess voice: "Service to Atlanta.") But let's start with the basics.

I flew away from Phoenix (stops to wipe tear from keyboard) at 11:59 p.m. on Thursday, January 4th, 2007. The ever desirable red eye flight would take me to Chicago's O'Hare Airport for a lovely early morning layover, before moving on to Atlanta for a 9:30 AM arrival. Circuitous? Yes. Just wanting to use a big word? Double yes.

Leg one was a fine journey. No sleep, but lots of that weird, where-did-the-last-twenty-minutes-just-go kind of half-consciousness. Flight was smooth and quick, with us getting into O'Hare a good half-hour early. I spent the next two hours alternating between equally uncomfortable sleeping positions on a bench next to Gate C17. Nevertheless, I was that much closer to being back in Georgia, a thought which gave me much succor.



Leg two begins without much fanfare, although even before taking off, the flight attendant mentions stormy weather outside of Atlanta and it's possible effect on our attempt to sail smoothly. I resume my pattern of dozing, becoming coherent enough every 15 or 20 minutes to check my watch before falling back comfortably into the arms of Morpheus. 35 minutes or so outside of Atlanta when suddenly, a slight rumble of the cabin breaks my equilibrium's silence. In a matter of two or three minutes, my body's internal thermometer has snapped and the mercury inside seems to be poisoning everything it touches. Hot sweats, cold chills; eye's can't focus; dizzyness everywhere. Alert enough to know that I was getting motion sick, I worked my way out from the window seat and into one of the restrooms, where I spent the next 15 or 20 minutes getting acquainted with the place. From inside my cell, I hear screams in the cabin. Or were they laughs? Am I missing some comic relief? Whatever the case, our plane has become a minion of the air, tossing, turning, and jumping at its every whim. For a few moments, I became an astronaut, watching my torso defy gravity, drifting upwards. My stomach responds with its own defiance of gravity, much to my chagrin. The flight attendant chimes back in, letting us know that in 10 - 12 minutes, we'll touch down in Atlanta, providing Hades loosens its grip on our cursed vessel. I decide to endure the remainder of the journey from my original seat. That attempt is successful, but not before my stomach gets in a last word. Or two. My seatmates, bless their hearts, are quite compassionate in securing me a receptacle for my insides, while also attempting to soothe my discontented digestive tract. Finally, we reach solid earth. The rest of the cabin claps each other on the back, sharing in the delight of having survived a brush with eternity. Inside, my stomach claps the rest of my body. I don't thank it.


Wobbling out of the plane, the last passenger to do so, I make my way to a bench. The world spins. Try laying down. Nope. Try standing up. Not really. Having used up all its ammunition, my stomach stays begrudingly silent. Clearly, I won't be making the shuttle scheduled to leave for Athens in half an hour. No, I bide my time in Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport for another few hours, focusing first on being able to focus, and then, having re-attained that skill, on how to get home. Many a comforting call from the parents assists me through the process. Of course, outside God is letting forth his fury on the greater Atlanta area. Tornado watches turn to tornado warnings, giving even a skeptic such as myself a reason for concern. On the other hand, the inclement weather provides me an excuse for tarrying in the airport a bit longer to collect my wits, et al. Finally, at 3:00 PM, five an a half hours after arriving into Atlanta, I board a shuttle to Athens. Three people join me on this trek, and though they are making merry conversation, sleep deprivation, and an equilibrium still trying to find its land legs, prevent me from joining the revelry. (Perhaps they found me impolite; I hadn't the nerve, nor time, to explain my harrowing experience prior) I finally arrive in Athens, am picked up by a friend who, by the grace of God, had randomly called while I was in the airport, and eventually turn the key into my apartment. And suddenly, a smile. Precious relief. I dally for a while, unpacking necessities (such as the new iPod stereo unit), before eating a bit of soup and drifting off to sleep, thanks to the calmingly redundant voice of the Weather Channel. 12 hours or so later, I awake. It is 7:00 in the morning.

So, I am alive. I even ate a bowl of Cap n' Crunch this morning; everything must be back to normal. Never have the mundanities of life seemed so welcome - unpacking bags, vacuuming the floors, taking another nap. Yes, I am alive. And back in Athens.