At Least I Got to Fly. Er, fall.
Yeah, so a few days ago I jumped off of the Stratosphere Tower in Las Vegas.*
Since skydiving at thirty hadn’t yet happened, I wanted to take the opportunity of celebrating thirty in Vegas with my best friend to actually go live some scary dreams. Real life is actually so much scarier, if’n ya take a second to think it over.
The Stratosphere Hotel provided a very good second choice to an airplane. Notice here the airplane in the photo I snagged off Google Images.
Was I terrified? Of course! Although not as fearful to do it as I was excited to do it; I am more familiar and intimidated by the idea of regret. I can’t do so many things I would like to do because, though my heart could be in it to win it, no human body can do the things of which it is not physiologically capable. In a big middle finger to fate and it’s constant ironic humor, it’s pretty much physiologically plausible for anyone to jump off a building. Gravity has few enemies, only subjects.
Being an even more immeasurable force than one nasty set of frayed wires, I gave myself to gravity that night. Really, why isn’t everybody trying this? It can redeem so much about life, living (and the distinction between) and hot, bright commercial cities.
Yes, almost a week and two transcontinental flights later, my body is laid waste in bed from over-reaching my limitations in Las Vegas. And I have zero probability for regret. I got to see most of the things I have watched shows about, lose $30 to slot machines (my first time at those), have a fancy dinner, in-hotel massage and a lifetime first of sitting in the audience of Phantom of the Opera (An event as big as life, itself. Yes, I cried). I also got to give loved ones an unexpected view of everyday bedridden life in a hotel room with eight television channels in English.
Again, regret at the toll? None. I jumped! Yay! [insert dancing smiley-face emoticon here]
*Video proof of this exists on my Facebook for family and friends.
TSD 