Last night, I was sprawled over my bed at home - legs hanging over one side, majority of my torso and up over the other side - holding a Foxtrot comic book above my head and emitting small, quiet chuckles to myself... for an hour or two. (I don't care how old I get, I still think Jason could take over the world... if his Mom would just let him.) However, once I sat back up and let the blood flow back to the rest of my body, saying "no" to the little black spots that wanted me to pass out, "just for a bit", it occurred to me that I used to spend time in my old bedroom working madly on the following:
A book - which would somehow bring out that deeper side of me that *I* didn't even know existed.
Well... that, or the greatest piece of Fan Fiction the world has ever seen! (That's right, I went there.)
A Cunning Plan... but for what, I still haven't devised.
A premature "Bucket List", if you will, including the scaling of Mount Everest (after I retire) and the completion of one of the world's greatest Ultra Marathons in South Africa, home of a "hill" named "Polly" that's guaranteed to bring even the most hardened street pounder to a walk.
A means to somehow compete in the Olympics in the following events: Track and Field (I'd learn quickly), Soccer, and Field Hockey, and heck, if they needed an extra man anywhere, they could just give me a shout. (Except for swimming... I'm about as buoyant as a very large rock, and slower than a typical participant in Senior Swim Day.) Gold Medals would be won and accepted humbly, saying only that I've admired the world's athletes at these games since I could remember, and how bloody BRILLIANT it was that I could simply compete against them.
To pull together a ragtag group of misfits and outsiders and pull off the greatest heist the world has ever seen... using only our collective, natural talents.... and duct tape.
To acknowledge that I used to spell "duct tape" - "duck tape" ... oh, good, look, I can cross one of these off!
And... finally:
To find, rescue (or at least, help out *grumble grumble*) my true love, and live happily ever after.
At age 7... or 8... or 17... the majority of these still seemed highly possible. Forgetting, of course, though, the cunning plan - "cunning" and "Dani Meier" probably don't belong in the same sentence. At 20... it's interesting to see what I'd still like to have under my belt by the time I... (insert death euphemism *here*), whenever that happens. 50, 60, 10 years? It'd be nice to go smiling. (This entry is rapidly becoming more morbid by the minute - what I'm trying to say is that my priorities have changed.)
thank you, after thoughts.
For instance, I'd still love to write that book. And I have a pretty decent idea of what I'd be banging out on my computer, or in my notebook, if I ever sat down to it. And I'd also like one day run ... or crawl... up Polly. True Love? We'll see. A friend once told me that only a man can make the same mistake twice... well... if that's true, women must be able to do that multiple times... if a mistake is a mistake, begging your pardon. When I was 7, I had no idea that I'd choose an instrument bigger than I am and use it to pursue a career... I still thought I had dormant superpowers and it was only a matter of a few years (and puberty) before I could join the X-Men. 13 years ago, I thought I was adopted, for pete's sake, just because I couldn't find any baby pictures of me around the house. (They were hidden... or, at least, "stored", which means the same thing in this house.)
The point is... at two decades of life, maybe I shouldn't be reading comics upside down on top of my old bed at home, instead of working diligently to accomplish what I used to think would fulfill my entire being, my entire purpose. However... I've worked hard at what I'm pretty damn sure is the right road for me right now... and I think I deserve to lean back and let the blood rush to my head a bit more.
Just for fun.
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