Monday, August 15, 2005 Don't go too fast, but I go pretty far
Last night at roller derby practice, we did a drill where six or eight of us skated in a single file line while one more wove through the line in a serpentine motion. When she got to the front, she had to race the person at the head of the line around the rink and then rejoin the line in the back. Then the person who'd just been racing around once had to thread through the line and race the front person. Those roller girls weren't playing around. By the end of the drill, I had completed the cycle three times, and my legs only supported me out of habit.
Today I'm sore from that, and kind of tired, still. I couldn't get to sleep for a while last night. In hindsight, it was dumb to have a giant Coke-flavored Slurpee at 10 pm. Yet, in double hindsight, so? Sleep when I'm dead. No, I need to take it easy soon. Maybe today. This past week was packed, and I'd be more exhausted yet if most of it wasn't so good. One out of town guest has been staying since about Tuesday, and more came and went over the weekend. It's nice to show people around town, although comically difficult sometimes. "We're taking the bus again?"
"Yes, if it ever appears."
"When is it supposed to come?"
"Three times an hour, but that's obviously a lie."
Then I got mugged a few days ago, and that was pretty rough. I'm OK, but sadly, so is the guy who attacked me. Also, he has my three favoriite shades of lipstick, the book that I agonized over paying full price for at Atomic earlier in the week when Tracy and I were showing his friend the sights of Hampden (Fiskadoro, by Denis Johnson. I hope the mugger is enjoying it, because I certainly had been.), one single roller derby wrist guard that I forgot to take out of the bag after the practice before last, my i-pod (I told Tracy that this is one way to get his music out to a wider audience.), and some large black sunglasses that make one look sort of like a starlet and sort of like a bug.
And my bus pass. He has that, too.
People told me that my purse was probably in a trashcan or some bushes with the valuables removed. This was less comforting than they'd probably intended. I had to work early the next day, so I didn't have time to pick around the neighborhood hunting for my personal effects like so many Easter eggs. In some ways, I'd rather picture my mugger (who PS I can SO identify if they ever catch him, which will be never) curled up on a windowseat somewhere, reading my book and listening to my music. He's wearing my prettiest lipstick, and somehow, feelings in him that have been dormant for years are beginning to arrive again like new green sprouts. He turns from his life of crime and gets a job as a receptionist in a beauty parlor, because his heart has cracked open.
I don't know what the hell he's going to do with a single wrist guard, though. I guess that's his problem. posted by Frenz | 8/15/2005 08:32:00 AM
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