I’m sitting alone in my room with two water bottles (re-usable with wide openings) on either side of my head. I’ve got them held up to my ears like an eager kid trying to hear the ocean through a sea shell. The thing is, you can get the same effect with lots of things just lying around the house, like water bottles. Yep, I’m thinking about the ocean. I never think about the ocean. I’m afraid of the ocean. Growing up in California, the mountains not the coast, I’ve seen the ocean plenty of times and never been all that impressed. It smells like salt and dead fish, it’s windy, the weather usually sucks, and the humidity plus my hair is like a lion’s mane after a tornado. So why am I sitting in my room thinking about the ocean?
Because I feel like escaping. My life is fine. Practically perfect, in the spectrum of how perfect life can get. But my life is boring. Not stagnant, just slow. Last year at this time my life was like that part of a roller coaster right when you get to the top and it stops for just a brief moment. Just enough to freak you out before plunging you so fast you can’t breathe, straight into the ground. It slowed down after graduation, but just long enough for me to catch my breath before sending me into a double loop. Not sure if I should be more excited or scared. Now the ride has pulled to a stop, I’ve begun breathing again, the ground has stopped wobbling, and my hands aren’t shaking as bad. This is the part where you forget briefly feeling like you were about to die and start saying “I wanna go again!!!”
Now I’m walking around the theme park wondering what to ride next. And once I decide, there’s the line. The waiting. Time to panic, before I buckle up and pray to God that I don’t die on a stupid roller coaster.