I need an adult

I am sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to board to Nashville. I resist the urge to grill my fellow passengers about whether they are heading to the conference, too. I have a deep-seated fear that I will turn into one of those people who chat up the person next to me regardless of their clear annoyance with my trite babble.
You see, when I get nervous, I babble. And flying makes me very, very nervous. So I babble more. I had to stop myself from butting into the conversation between two concourse employees: “Really? You’re going to get a vasectomy? You lost your house because of your child support payments? Wow. Now, that’s an interesting story. Would you mind telling my iPod?” I manage to restrain myself; however, I did stare longingly hoping they would get the hint and talk to me.
See, babbling. Babbling=nervous. Right now, I am nervous about the following things: a) my toothpaste will explode in my luggage and seep out through the double Ziploc bags I placed it in b) I won’t have toothpaste at all because my bag will be lost and c) my plane will crash before I know what happens between Meredith Grey and McDreamy.
I am a terrible flyer. I grip the handrails, take sharp, deep breaths whenever there is turbulence, and have been known to openly weep upon landing. This trip is particularly hard because no one is with me to explain how the airport works. I am constantly asking stupid questions (I am always convinced I am in the wrong line) or panicking about where the bathroom is. Arrgh. They just announced that they oversold the plane!! Don’t panic. Must remember deep, yogic breathing.
In a few hours, I will be in Nashville, a competent educator ready to blog, wiki, and podcast with the best of them. In the meantime, I need an adult.