This weekend is the boyfriend’s work party at the local amusement park. Every year they do it in October – a family picnic type event. Keep in mind October is fickle in this part of the country. It is supposed to be something like 89 degrees this Saturday. First strike.
I don’t hate Halloween. I love pumpkins and candy and costumes. I hate being spooked though, and spiders. The idea of a haunted house freaks me the fuck out. There are several at the event. Now, yes, I know, they’re staffed with teenagers and there’s nothing actually scary about them. Except that I get nervous when people jump out at me.
Add to that my fear of roller-coasters and other types of rides. I’m fine with say, a carousel or a ferris-wheel, but I literally feel like I will die on a roller-coaster. I don’t get the euphoric rush most people get. I’m just grateful to be off and I try not to puke while I sob and ask him to not make me ride any more.
He doesn’t make me ride another. He never made me in the first place.
I push myself so that I am not the boring stick in the mud. I want to have fun, screaming and throwing my hands up. Instead, I scream in terror and tell him “I hate you” while my eyes stay pressed shut. As if impending death is easier to take in the dark.
I need a little resolve, a little bravery for this weekend. I wish I could be carefree about it.