Standing In Line in Open Diary 2001-2018 (Pre-Prosebox)

E-mails flying now like lightning. He’s telling me all the places he wants to take me. All the people he wants me to meet. He’s sending me weather reports and suggesting what I should bring to wear (casual clothes and sexy underthingies). He’s telling me how much fun we’re going to have. He’s counting down the days.

I’m getting excited as well. I reply back to each of his e-mails almost immediately (instead of making him wait like I usually do). I ask him if there’s anything he wants me to bring him. Anything that he’s missed from here since moving to California.

He sends me a note back stating simply, “I can’t think of anything that I want from [state] but you.”

I know I’m in for an emotional rollercoaster here. And I’m strangely thrilled and excited.

It’s so cliché, but it’s exactly how I feel:

You know when you go to an amusement park? You drive to the place and you can see the rollercoaster from a distance. Before you even get to the parking lot. You can see that giant thing with the loop de loops and the twists and the turns and the ups and the downs. You see it from the car window and your heart flutters. And you can’t take your eyes off of the thing.

And when you step out of the car in the parking lot you can hear the click, clack, click, clack, click, clack of the coaster climbing and climbing and climbing up to the highest point of the ride. And then slowly, the cars start to descend the giant hill and it slides faster and faster down the hill and you can hear the faint screams of all the people helplessly zooming down, wind whipping hair, mouths wide open, uncontrollably laughing, stomach flipping, heart racing, almost flying. And you just can’t take your eyes off the thing.

You go inside the park and maybe you walk around and assess the situation and get a snack and a drink and ride some less significant ride and then maybe the Ferris wheel or something. And it’s fun and you’re enjoying yourself. But you still can’t take your eyes off of that rollercoaster.

So you finally make that decision. You get in that line. It seems like there’s a million people in that line….all waiting for the same precious few moments of thrill. The line snakes itself through gates and cords and up stairs and then back down. Past you-must-be-this-tall signs and signs with warnings that tell you that this ride is not for the weak of heart. And you notice a slight lump in your throat and a distinct thump-thump rising from your chest…moving upward and getting faster. And you wonder for a brief moment if your heart might finally give out this time, or if you’re going to be on the death trap when it gets stuck on the track and you have to climb down to safety (hell, it’ll get you on the 6 o’clock news, won’t it?). You try to avert your eyes and think happy thoughts.

But it’s hot. And tedious. And there are kids picking their noses and blowing spit bubbles and dripping bomb pops on the ground and hitting each other, knocking into you. And the adults are doing just about the same thing. In aggravation, you begin to wonder if it’s even worth it to spend so much time waiting in line for some brief moment of exhilaration. You feel like you’re never going to make it to the front of the line. You sometimes even forget what you’re waiting for until you hear the click clacking again, and then that almost dreadful pause…and then screams as the cars come roaring down the giant slope again. Your eyes instantly fix right back on that rollercoaster.

That’s me. Standing in that line. Inching my way closer and closer to those precious few moments of thrill. And with every step closer, I wonder if it’s going to be worth the wait and the wonder and the nervousness and the laughter and the helpless feeling of falling and the screams and the stomach flips and the heart flutters.

Guess I won’t know until I ride.