skydiving?

Jun 23, 2009 18:06

June 23, 2009 (finished at 5:43pm)

So this writing thing that I’ve been pretending to do has really slowed down. The best lesson my teacher at UM tried to instill in us was that writers show up to write. Its not always the most talented ones that get published - it’s the ones that just show up. And for some reason or another I haven’t been showing up. Id rather come back from the gym in the early morning hours and take a nap. I’d rather score craig’s list for auditions and vocalist calls than sit in my room and try to make my brain work. I think the problem is that I cannot think in my room. I really can’t focus in there. And I need to stop pretending like I don’t know why.

It’s not my room.

There are still unpacked boxes underneath my bed. Clothes thrown carelessly into the closet. Posters rolled up on a makeshift bookshelf that have yet to be tacked up onto the wall. I attempted decorating with a clock I received for Christmas, but the clock doesn’t have any batteries. So in that room, it is forever 9:22. AM or PM, you can choose. Or I can choose. Or choose to ignore it, which I think is what I do anyway. I ignore the time as it passes when I’m in that room because I hate to admit the hours I’ve wasted away doing nothing on my bed.

I want to move to a place I can call my own, but in order to do that I need money. I have no money for a down payment or a security fee. I have enough to pay my student loan, credit card payment, and monthly rent. Maybe if I call the loan people and ask for a month deferment due to having to move? Maybe I really do stop eating like a fitness professional (expensively) and save every little penny that I can? In that case, I shouldn’t have thrown away the $3 I just spent on this ice coffee so that I could sit in some place other than my room and type on the new computer I bought for $200.

Life is funny.

I wonder if, when Adam mentioned the permanent Twister game on the floor and a certain pole fixture that somewhere in his mind he was serious in thinking not so much about the objects in the room, but that those objects in the room would be for me. For me for us, as he has started to say. For you for me for us. It’s almost like a math equation like “if p, then q….” for me for you. For you for us….how many different permutations can you make out of those 3 statements?

I like the story of the girl who winds up sitting next to the guy on a plane toward the Cayman Islands. Back in February, it was a joke that that could have happened. But now, he knows me well enough to know that should he have found me sitting next to him on that plane he wouldn’t have been surprised. It’s like that first time at his place that he discovered I wanted to go skydiving too. Or the time we didn’t hesitate to admit mean things we’d done as younger kids.

Or when I let the occasional eff word slip out of my mouth and he laughs before kissing me as if I’ve earned a reward.

The thought of skydiving with him symbolizes how I’ve recently come to define what I believe is real love that leads to a real, lasting marriage. You’re up there and it’s loud and you already made the decision to first put on the suit, then get on the little plane. Aren’t those planes shitty, too? And isn’t skydiving a pretty expensive outing to get yourself into (ha, OUTing to get INto…)? Anyway, so you’ve made a series of decisions to put you where you are, in that plane. The only thing you have left to do is say to yourself, “Ok, this is going to be ok. In fact, this is going to be a blast.” Then look your partner in the eye, count to 3, and jump.

Then fly.

And the parachute catches you.

And you land and right away, wanting to go back up and do it again.

That’s what my marriage is going to be like. Looking the other person in the eye, knowing fully what we’ve gone through to get where we are, and holding out my hand and saying, “this is scary, crazy, and probably the bravest adventure I’ll ever go on in this lifetime. But jump with me, and I’ll catch you. You might have to catch me sometimes, and I hope to remember to smile and say thank you. I might drag you along sometimes, and you might have to pull me out of the mud sometimes, too. And you know what? I bet we’ll have to leave things up to fate just like skydiving. But how many times did the first parachute not work? How many times did the 2nd chord have to be pulled? I’m trusting those chances. I’m throwing statistics away and trusting in you. I’ll take your hand and jump.”

I also know that with skydiving, you might land in different places. That’s ok, too. I can’t wait to hear about the ground that met your feet. I might not be there, but that gives you even more reason to excitedly tell me all about it. I’m anxious to hear the story.

I close my eyes and can hear that plane; feel the wind rushing; feel my stomach flip-flopping. Hear my heartbeat attempting to take over my breathing.

I close my eyes and can see you at the bottom of the aisle; feel my stomach flip-flopping, tears welling in my eyes; heartbeat completely taking over oxygen intake.

And you know what?

That excites me more than anything in the world.
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