Addiction to adrenaline. Whether it is falling or climbing, crawling or screaming; whether it is terror or laughter, speed or depth. Regardless of the contributing factor I am forever and always addicted to the place that my heart and mind go when my fingertips brush the corridor of adrenaline. I have never much cared how I got my adrenaline rush only that I could have an adrenaline rush. I love the way, when adrenaline spikes through my body, how my heart erratically skips a few beats and my breath quivers in anxiety and my stomach lurches unsteadily and how my mind scrambles to find a metaphorical safe hold.
Sometimes I watch people and how they seem only to live for the next big rush of Friday night drinking and laughter or how they live for the rush of one more paycheck or one more compliment. So many people sit back and wait for the next big, oh wait, not big at all simple and meaningless point in their life. I wonder to myself how they can content themselves with simply going to work each day and then partying on the weekend. I wonder if underneath their bright smiles and loud laughter they are covering a deep and intense craving for something that will spike their heart rate and bring out cold chills?
Surely no one can truly be content with just one ever revolving mundane cycle of life. Surely they long for their fingertips to brush that moment that brings all your senses so alive you feel almost comatose when you come back down.
Normalcy and routine have never been something I quite understood. Planting roots and letting them grow seems a foreign concept to me. There is too much earth to claim just one spot of earth; there is too much air to breath just one spot for the rest of your life.
I always want to brush the edge and sometimes, I even want to fall over. The hurtle down is so much more than the view from the top.
