Straight Illin'

A picture of my victorious visit to Coney Island, wherein I rode the Cyclone and didn't even cry. I usually won't even consider riding a roller coaster, since 50% of the time they clip off your legs and smoosh your organs and ruin your credit rating. During my stay in NYC, however, I was dating a man who convinced me to try out the Cyclone, explaining that as a wooden roller coaster, it gave more and cushioned the car a bit, rather than jangling like a metal track. After two plastic mermaids full of pina colada, I agreed to try it. We rode the bastard twice(I decided that the first time, which my eyes squeezed shut and hands clinging to the car, didn't quite count), and the entire city of New York was very very impressed by my courage.

It's occurred to me that most of the important steps I've taken in my life have been motivated by my relationships; I moved to Chicago for an x, I moved to England to prove a point, I came home early for my sister, and so on. In fact, my biggest struggle has been doing things for myself, when it feels so much more validated to take care of someone else. That's not to say that I'm unconditionally generous, but as far as my loved ones are concerned, I'll do nearly anything to make their lives better.

Hmm. Maybe that's why I dislike strangers so much. The scale's tipped WAY out of their favor.