When I learned to dive, or at least when I learned to fall into water from high places without injuring myself too greatly, there was a period of time where I would go to the edge of the diving board and stand there, shivering and dripping, not sure if I would be able to make my feet move to carry me in. The secret to diving is that it is just falling. You lean forward, whistle through the air, and want to do it again even before parting the water. California is the pool, and tonight I am climbing the ladder to a board suspended two thousand miles from my destination. Here’s to diving.
In other news, Saturday I turned in the keys to my old apartment and had a terrific party that started at the Keathly’s house and ended at the 331. Today, we had an extended family breakfast with the Keathlys, my mom, John, and Zach and Dani. Then the Keathlys took me to the water park, where there were water slides and a strangely warm pool — hopefully heated by means other than baby urine, no matter what Lisa says. It was so wonderful that I ended up crying while swimming, which is a great way to shed tears undetected. Later, we visited my mom for hamburgers. Noah and I fed her school of fish, and I cried again when we left. Back at the Keathlys, Stan and I watched Mythbusters, but I managed to keep it together.
It’s going to be fine. I’m going to load the car with snacks and drinks, put on the new CDs that I bought at the Electric Fetus, and drive through as much scenic wonder as I can coax out of the American West. Three friends have offered to put me up until I find a place, which should hopefully be only a matter of days. Cross everything you have and send up a prayer if you got ‘em. There’s no net at the bottom, just the ocean, and I’m going to take the plunge.