Falling From the Sky

Long time readers know that my last few years have been filled with something a little less cheery than sunshine. A blizzard? Tornado? Flood? Tsunami?

I needed a release. A way to let go. A way to look in the eyes of the person(s) that caused said disaster in Linnyland and give them the finger.

So what did I do?

I threw myself out of a plane.

Literally.

For my 31st birthday, I got myself strapped to a fantastically goodlooking man, said a small prayer and threw myself into nothingness.

Lept with reckless abandon.

So what if Mr. Fantastic did a double somersault straight out the back door without warning me first. As soon as I realized that this wasn't the stupidest thing I've ever done and I wasn't going to throw up, it was pretty damn cool.

If you've never jumped out of a plane before...I liken it to diving into a swiming pool. The cold air hits you in the face and goes up your nose. You're not sure which way is up, which is down or whether you're standing on your head. But once the bubbles clear...you see the world from a whole new perspective.

There is nothing like floating thousands of feet in the air, feeling the wind wrap a protective arm around you...holding you up so you can soar through the clouds...experience long awaited freedom and drown out all the voices, all the people, all the opinions that have been stalking you. Plaguing you.

I let it all go.

Left them to fall where they may.

For one brief, magnificent window of time...I was free.

I could hear Mr. Fantastic screaming my ear. "Wooooo! Isn't this fantastic? Isn't this beautiful?" And I couldn't help but to think...yes...it is.

I don't know how long we were in the air but the green grass snuck up on us and all too soon I was gliding in...landing softly in Mr. Fantastic's lap.

I turn 32 in five months...wonder how I'm going to top that.

Someday She'll Learn

I sometimes think that I am a glutton for punishment.

And right now, my sore backside is echoing that sentiment.

I had the brilliant idea to go ice skating. Me...a klutz. A girl with no coordination. A girl that runs into walls. A girl who, (completely sober) would still fail a field sobriety test of walking a straight line.

Yes, that girl (me) strapped on a pair of rental skates, threw caution to the wind and eased my way onto the ice.

It took about 2.2 seconds to realize that I had lost my mind.

There was no elegant gliding. No effortless manuvering or fancy footwork. No no...those things were replaced with cursing, stumbling, and more cursing. I resorted to clinging to the edge of the rink as if it were my life preserver, maintaining a death grip while cautiously scooting my way around the arena. Moments of panic came at points when other skaters were resting against the edge of the rink, directly ahead of me. Forcing me to let go of safety, say a quick prayer and try to glide past them to the other side.

Most of my efforts were successful. One was not. I was faintly aware of everything moving in slow motion. I felt my foot catch and my body lose balance. I remember thinking, "Oh Damn! No! No no no no no!!! Please no! Everyone's watching!" Then everything went white. Followed by the oddest sensation of feeling that while my butt was terribly cold...my face was burning with fire.

Without meeting anyone's eyes, I pulled myself up and brushed off the half pound of ice shavings that had taken hold of my clothes. Then I squared my shoulders, stuck my chin defiantly up in the air...daring anyone to snicker...and proceeded to continue stumbling my way around the ice rink.

All in all it was good fun, though it's not something I'm in a terrible hurry to try again. I think I'll just stick to rollerskating if it's all the same.