skydiving, fireworks, italy, etc.
On Thursday night I wrote my final research paper for my online summer class in a blackout with my roommate asleep among candles in the chair next to me. Brandon called and we had a rousing discussion about educational policy and identity/authenticity in theater before I brought up emotional issues between us and we broiled one another like fish until my phone died.
Enough on that subject.
I woke up after a few hours of sleep and completed my half-assed paper on how I wish Obama was awesome but he sort of can't be allowed to be in terms of educational reform, and ah hell, high-stakes testing.
Emily and I drove a few hours outside of Chicago, signed our lives away (the contract must have repeated DEATH and INJURY about thirty times), and then we were taken up to 13,000 feet with altimeters strapped to our wrists and thirty something year old dudes strapped to our backs and really awkward conversation to make (I ended up asking the guy what he did if people weren't verbal learners, did he adjust his teaching style or no? I think I offended him. too bad we were STRAPPED to each other).
you get to the edge of the plane, to this wide open window, and because you're on the front, the person behind you sits on the edge and you are outside the plane like a STARFISH until he (or she) signals and you put your head back and arch your back (this was awkward to practice.) and then you're all systems go. you are free-falling 8,000 feet in sixty seconds.
after a second you are tapped on the head and then you have to do the "lazy w" with your arms, and do a HAT check. You look at the horizon, look at your altimeter, and then the dude you're piggybacking, aka your TANDEM MASTER (a that's what she said joke in the making), gives you the thumbs up and you check the golf-ball-like structure that you will pull in a few seconds to let your parachute out.
then you enjoy the fall. you look around, maybe locate the petsmart, you can check out the various hills, streams, gullies, small structures and roads, maybe take a think about life, or maybe hum a little tom petty in your head, or a little of that terrible country song (I WENT SKYYYYYDIVING I WENT ROCKY MOUNTAIN CLIMBINNNNN') or if you're a screamer (which I, happily, am not, thank you very much) you scream into your TANDEM MASTERS ears, which probably makes him really really happy if he can hear anything but his own exceptionally cool thoughts. he'll be especially pleased considering you've already critiqued his teaching style, and he has assumed you're hysterical and insane, and, well, nothing can be done because you're his fetus for about fifteen minutes.
He'll grab your altimeter at 6,000 feet and that's your signal to pull the parachute. Reach and pull the golf ball (I did this! I pulled my own parachute! I felt awesome! I saved my own life after paying to endanger it! Huzzah!). Then you stand on his feet and he'll adjust the harness and tell you how to hold the steering toggles and you'll do red turns which are incredibly vomit inducing and yellow turns which make you feel like you've been on a bad ride at six flags and the green turns which are lovely as driving miss daisy. then you'll put your legs up and land in a field and everything is so awesome that you just want to rewind your life countless times.
Emily and I drove to Grumpy's Hot Dog Stand by the highway afterward, and Grumpy told me, while putting celery salt on my dog, how the owner of the skydiving place died in a skydiving accident. Pretty depressing. But the hot dog? Incredible.
Saturday Emily makes me french toast with strawberries in the morning, Simon and I talk for the first time in awhile, and I go to work on a bum foot. I have a stress fracture and I'm going to have to stop running for awhile. I'm not happy about this. I am worried about the marathon, but more importantly, I'm worried about my foot for the rest of my life. Stress fractures are no good. I can't see a doctor before I depart for Italy tomorrow, so I'll be limping for awhile. That's what happens when you work 40 hour weeks and then run on top of it. Not a good plan, Einstein.
Sunday I ran around doing errands, put a scholarship application in for Loyola (snuck into the closed building with a security guard!). Emily read The History of Sexuality by Foucault and I practiced my incredibly shitty Italian on her at the dog beach.
We changed into formal wear (see: me in suit pants and a button down, emily: pretty shirt and heels; we perform gender. what?) and went out to the best restaurant in Lincoln Square and probably Chicago, Bistrot Campagne (which I always think is champagne, but it's really not, so definitely don't introduce it to people that way). After drinking some wine, eating some snails, fish and crepe, we ordered the most delicious desserts in the world, and talked about gender dynamics and friendships, and random things that made us laugh. I noticed we were the only two women together our age. It's as if people wait for a coupling to be happy, we all do this, even I do, what an unfortunate thing. although I loved that most people assumed that we were dating, (for some reason (and I don't mean this in a self righteous way) any subversion of a master narrative really pleases me), I wish it were more acceptable for single women to enjoy the company of one another and not be seen as needing more or being lonely. It's quite sad.
Afterward we parked incredibly illegally on the side of the Foster stop on Lakeshore Drive to watch fireworks which made me very, very happy.
Today I woke up and went to work, closed early with a new hire and felt sort of weirdly responsible (could I be *gasp* growing up at my place of work?), and now I'm going to pick up Annie at the airport and then get on a plane tomorrow and go to Italy to see my mom and that's kind of that, isn't it.
So. I'm pretty sure I've fit in all necessary components of a good life into these past few days: study, semi-heartbreak, friendship, work, love, good food, life changing experience, and travel
with liberty and justice for all.
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