I hate fun. According to my wife, at least.
She says this because we can’t agree on roller coasters. For her, they’re a wonderful thrill; to me, they’re horrific things, come straight from the bowels of Hell.
To be clear, it’s not motion sickness that stops me; motion sickness implies just that: sickness. Sickness I can deal with. The problem is that there’s a big disparity between what my brain knows and what it tells my body.
My brain knows roller coasters are pretty safe; 2 deaths a year, out of millions and millions of riders. What it tells my body is: YOU ARE ABOUT TO DIE.
Of course, my body responds. All my muscles lock rigid, temporarily beyond my conscious control, my blood floods to my extremities, my pulse blows through the roof, and I lose all awareness of what is happening outside of the fact that I am still alive. For the moment.
In fact, all of the sensations are exactly the same as the last time I was in a major car wreck.
I think I experience roller coasters differently than most. What I experience could never in any way be called fun, and it certainly wouldn’t generate much money for a theme park.
So that is my amusement park drawing: no (or at least very few) roller coasters.
Zoe Nowell [NEW!]