Once upon a time, I went to Disney World. I was 18. Far too old to buy into it, really, but still young enough to be a little in love with it all. I am a ride wimp. The Tilt-a-Whirl is a little racy, if you ask me. But I was getting kind of brave by midday. And hot. Zaftig girls from Canada don’t do real well in Florida.
We lined up for Splash Mountain.
I got on the little log. The front of the little log. The ride starts with a meander through some kind of fake forest crap. It’s dark, cool, and pleasant. And then I heard the roar.
Why yes, I DID know the ride involved dropping down a 4 story column of water. I thought I could handle it. But as we got ever closer to the mouth, I panicked. Oh holy fuck, what had I done? And I hatched a plan, whereby I would remove my seatbelt, crawl off the ride, wait in the fake forest, and have my friends politely alert park authorities to my whereabouts. (Instead, the bitches laughed at me till they peed, and laughed even harder at the picture of us shooting down the waterfall, where the look on my face indicates that I am in the middle of delivering Satan’s child. Out my ass.)
That feeling, that “Oh holy fuck, what have I done?” feeling, has been with me for weeks.
A blogger I really enjoy, Maria, first led me to the site “Ask and Ye Shall Receive”. They loved her (of course). And they seemed to give some really good advice. And my masochistic self thought that sounded like a dandy place to submit my blog. So I did it.
Then, as the weeks went on, I got reeeeal scared. Some people got torn right the hell apart. What made me think I was going to fare any better?
Well, I can finally sleep again. It turned out OK. Actually, better than OK.