Airplane Drunk and Typing Words

I’m sitting somewhere above Nebraska in a near-empty first class cabin on Virgin America Flight VX 205 enjoying a hefty buzz courtesy of two Xanax and three whiskey gingers (flying scares me) and thinking about how every month for the past eighteen or so I have spent the better part of this flight (not typically in first class) back to San Francisco wondering how I could have made the last visit home with my mom more special for her, how I could have made her see how important she is to me, how I could have shown her how much I love her. I know she knows, but it would be nice to look back thirty or forty or fifty years from now and be able to remember one single instance in which I delivered just one single moment of pure comfort and happiness to her when she needed it most.

I'm not really sure where I wanted to go with this, but at 38,000 feet with anxiety meds and a hotel minibar coursing through my veins these words seemed like something I should put down.