You know when you are in line for a roller coaster ride, a huge one, and you wonder why you got in line for it. The people you are with are all playing it cool and chatting it up while your stomach is twisted in knots and you want to puke. You hear the people screaming as the cars whiz past you at lightening speed, but you still stand in line talking your lunch into staying down and trying to relax and pretend it's going to be fun. Even though you are still trying to figure out how the hell you got in this line to begin with.
It's finally time to pick a car, you choose blue and pull the safety bar down. Now that you committed to riding this damn thing, you actually find yourself excited. You can't sit still from jittery nerves, you tap your toes and can't stop smiling as you hold tightly to the bar over your lap.
Then it starts to move and you think of going down that big drop, how you will scream and smile and throw your hands up in the air with sheer exhilaration while having the piss scared out of you.
You hear the click, click, click as you are going up. Seems a lot higher than you imagined, but you're totally stoked. At this point the excitement has far outweighed the fear.
Then the ride stops before you get to look down and see the drop. The car starts creeping backwards, slowly, to the starting line. You have to get out of the car and get back in line while other people take your place who were waiting in line behind you.
Like the sweet Indian family who rode the elevator up with me to the labor and delivery floor last night. She got to be induced yesterday and I got to go back home to wait in line. Again.
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I just know when I finally get admitted and settled for the long haul it will be 1966 again, a love as big as Wembley. I will have my fists in the air shouting GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL!
