I never really noticed it before, but my house is almost directly under the flight path for incoming and outgoing planes of the nearby Cardiff international airport. I’ve lived under this flight path for two years and the planes have never bothered me, I never really noticed them; until a couple a weeks ago.
Every morning, at about 6:00 a.m.—thirty minutes before my scheduled 6:30 a.m. wake up—I’m jolted from my state of comatose by what feels like a thirty ton meteor crashing into my house.
Everyday, as sure as shit, I find myself vaulting out of bed in sheer survival mode, as the sound barrier is broken above my house. Some days I know that earth-shattering sound for what it is: a plane crashing into my bedroom. Other mornings it’s a bomb, alien invasion or terrorists.
And, so my morning started today: in a state of pure panic, and that panic has somehow followed me into this evening. Mid-afternoon I developed a severe case of pneumonia and I hold that damn plane responsible.
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