Monday, March 28, 2005

I've taken to walking to and from work lately. There really isn't any reason not to, since it takes almost as long to wait for the bus, and I do sit at a desk most of my day. And as I've told you many, many times before, I love this city.
This last week or so I've been in an exceptionally foul mood, just really grumpy. Work has been overwhelming, and I keep breaking things at home, and if one more person anywhere asks me if he's called I might kick them in the shins. (He hasn't, and if one more person says 'but I thought he liked you' I really will kick them in the shins. Fucking quit it, people.) I'm grumpy at work and I'm grumpy at home, but during my daily walks I'm bouncy and smiling and just thrilled to be young and alive and in Seattle. I probably should just keep walking, but do I have places to go and so I go to them and try not to take out my shitty mood on other people.

On Mondays I have my French lesson at a cafe down the street. I've been leaving work a little early and walking down there, too--it's only a few extra blocks. Today I was waiting at a light to cross the street, singing along inside my head with a song and smiling at the sky that was suddenly blue. (The song was "Preaching to the Perverted" by Pop Will Eat Itself, if you're wondering.) The light turned green and the crosswalk sign flashed to a little man, so I stepped into the road and continued on my way.
Anyway, I tried to continue. But so did the car in the turning lane next to me. And though it shuddered to a halt before totally running me over, it did manage to nudge me rather roughly in the left leg. I, of course, fell ass-over-teakettle sideways and backwards into some grass. The driver sat there stricken in her car for a minute and then heedlessly threw open her door in front of another car and ran over to me. She found me laying in the dirt, one headphone fallen out, cackling hysterically and trying to stand up. There are moments when things have been going just rotten, and then that one extra thing happens, and you have to make a choice between laughing and breaking into a million pieces.
She apologized profusely, but people were staring and I really wanted to get out of there so I told her that I was fine and hobbled off to my French lesson. A half of a block later my cell phone rang--it was my French teacher calling to cancel.
I don't really want to spend the next couple of nights alone in my apartment, but it seems as though the universe is trying to tell me something. So if you need me I'll be here, eating ice cream and poking at my bruises.

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