different endings

I know there are people out there that aren't interested in other peoples' dreams. 

Not me. And that's why I'm sharing an interesting development in a reoccuring dream I've had for probably the past 7 or 8 years.

To start, I've always been a reluctant flyer. As a kid, I dreaded it like bathing, but after working for an airline and hopping on planes on a weekly, if not daily, basis for a year, I've gotten over much of the fear.

For quite some time, and as often as once a week for a while, I would have dreams about being involved in a plane crash. It was odd, because usually I would be tasked with flying the thing, even though I have no clue at all how airplanes even work. Still, I would get in the flight deck, knowing full well I was going to crash the thing, and go through with all the motions, and obviously I would crash the plane. Often, the plane would have some sort of deformity, like it wouldn't be completely pressurized or there would be no top half, so it would be convertible-like. Even when I didn't fly the plane, like the times I was a passenger, I would still know the whole time that it would crash. I would accept it, resigned to fate, and just go along with it for some reason. And I was always alone, or separated from the people I was with. And the plane always crashed. And I always woke up just before it went down.

This isn't me, but this picture popped up when I typed nervous flyer into Google Images. I think it's an accurate representation and probably what I look like in the dream.

Lately though, and I would say in the past six months, things done changed.

I still dream of planes with regularity, but now, when I'm on them, I'm not preoccupied with it crashing. It doesn't even cross my mind. And even though the plane still usually starts to go down -- either by losing pressurization or by blowing an engine -- I stay relatively calm and I now always seem to survive the crash. 

The last one I remember, I was over what looked like Salt Lake City, teetering in a steep turn when the right engine blew and we dipped even further. The plane hovered over the city for some time, and we somehow maneuvered toward the airstrip. 

And then, in the time it took to blink my eyes, I was laying on a grassy little patch, beside a small city intersection, and a tall cliff overlooking the ocean. I was lying in the fetal position.

I don't know what any of this means. I'm glad, I guess, that it seems to be getting better.

I also feel foolish for writing this now, as I'll be flying in a couple days. I hope I don't get that feeling.