Bravery . . .

or the lack thereof.

I get melancholy (don't you just love that word? I can't understand why it's not used more. It has such a pretty sound . . .) sometimes and think about all the things I'd like to do or the things I'm too chicken to do. I've compiled a list. I'm not sure what it says about me . . .

1. Pole Dancing. Wouldn't it be great to have a real-life stripper, one who actually makes a living at it, teach you the art of pole and lap dancing. I can wiggle with the best of them, but seriously I'm not coordinated to think, dance AND disrobe all at once.

2. Flying. As a senior in high school I had this grand idea of joining the Marines and flying planes. Hoorah! Now, looking back, I'm thankful that I didn't. Who'd have thought pilots would need perfect vision? Still, I'd like to learn to fly something. Kites are optional.

3. Horticulture. Yes, I'm the biggest dork I know. Things that are unknown to me, interest me. I tried to get books from the library and teach myself. I've realized I'm not a do it yourselfer when it comes to these things. I need to see, touch and feel what I'm learning. The hands on approach works best for me.

4. History. Again, with the dorkiness. The DH wonders how we ever hooked up. I blame it on the T&A. Mine, not his. In my heyday (what the heck does THAT mean) I could've given Jessica Rabbit a run for her money. "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way." But, I digress.

History EXCITES me, makes me all tingly and lightheaded. I yearn, yes yearn, to learn about it, to take it all in. I could spend the rest of my life in school, just learning. I'd love to have a masters in History and a minor in English. What the heck I'd use it for, who knows but I could say that I did it. That's what counts . . .right?

Some days, today being one of those days, I feel trapped inside this body, in this town, in this time. What differences could I have made if any options I chose were changed? Could I have flown that plane as a Marine? Is it too late to go back to school and learn all those things that mean so much to me but make such little sense to everyone else? At this point, why do I even care that it makes no sense to them?

Ehhh . . .One day I'll try to be funny. One day . . .