A More Practical Adventure

       I walked into a coffee shop the other day, sat down, and thought to myself “why the hell am I going crazy over this?” I have two and a half months before the interview. It’s just an interview. It’s my job. I am not headed off to marry Evel Knievel. I’m not going to ever understand the inner workings of his soul. He’s not going to take out a pistol and shoot me in the head just because I want to know what it was like when he purchased his first bike.

         Or at least I hope he won’t.

         Essentially, I will ask him the questions that I need to ask, I will get paid for it afterwards, and I will use that money to walk into the same coffee shop, get the same coffee, and stare into the same creamer thinking I see reflections of a more adventurous life.

         “Wow, I am sorry S.O.B.” I heard run through my conscience in Evel Knievel’s voice. So I got up and ordered a different beverage.

…Adventure.

         Though I was thoroughly content with my spontaneous outburst of an alternative routine that day, the second I hit my pillow I also hit my deeper fears. Why don’t I have a motorcycle?

          I’ve asked this question a million times: Is it really that I have an obsession with Evel, or do I just have an obsession with Evel’s life? Do I want Evel’s life.

          I could see that. World’s top female daredevil! Watch this Greek goddess sore! Every bone in her body has been broken! Twice! And she still charges off the platform in flaming, metallic high-heels!

          Perhaps I could start dreaming about that rather than having these crazy nightmares about Evel Knievel’s crushing essence.

           Or maybe I should just stick to my mini-coffee revolts until I get closer to the interview.

We’ll see.