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I have been downstate conspiring with hardcore conspirators for over a week. I have had a daffy time of it, as usual. So much love burbling from my brooks and out onto the people and landscapes and seascapes around me, all good, plus, some stultifying encounters and interactions that might ordinarily be a big old ripple in my burble, but... you know what? Too stupid to merit a kink in my flow.
Air-headed as holy fuck the whole time. Too damn preoccupied with more arcane matters than what's where and when or how to get there again. It's a damn wonder I got home safely. No shit. I can be such a twit. Twittitude was barging into my burbling like crazy the whole time. In fact, if the twittiness does not ebb in a few days, maybe we ought to get me a brain scan?
So. I stopped in Crescent City to grab a couple grocery items to tide me until my ducks are in a row for a real trip to the store. I'm coming out of the store and it's so damn pleasingly saturated with the pregnant air of redwood country about to have a storm, I'm doing a little dance and yelling how much I love this weather when a woman on her way into the store said, "Well, then for sure you need this!" She held out her hand to me like your uncle giving you a secret treat behind your mother's back, and deposited a pink heart-shaped rock in my hand.
I drove to Dawn's shop to give her my sunglasses she loves so much. I got a replacement pair for myself at Pippi Longstockings in Fort Bragg, and Dawn was pleased as punch, gave me a monster-good hug... which tided me through stopping at the cable company to pay the motherfuckers entirely too much money.
MacGyver has been slaving away while I've been gone. My mudroom may not cave in after all.
I'm making myself some coffee. My spirit will be here any minute now....
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And this is why I never can forget to let people know I got home okay. Goddammittalltohell! I think there have been something like five fatal accidents up here in the last month. UNacceptable! Beyond the beyond UNacceptable! It's not hard, mostly, to drive safely on our highways, yet there are a spectacular number of horrific accidents anyway.
An old lady, a teen, a drunk middle-aged guy, a tourist, and... now... this... and those are just the ones I forced myself to read about. Goddammit!
I hate this!
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My trick right wrist is killing me too. It's given a few yells today, but reading about that accident and trying to curse the hurt away, I realized it's now screaming it's little wristy head off. I put on my Ace cuff I'd brought down to my conspiracy with me in case all that writing did me in, but if that's what it was it is a delayed reaction.
I was about eleven, I think, and we were in BC, on our way back from Banff and Lake Louise to the cabin by the lake in Hope. We'd stopped to have a picnic lunch and Billy Lougheed was chasing me around the picnic ground when I slipped in a muddy former puddle and broke a small bone in my wrist. Picnic was aborted for a trip to the nearest hospital.
I think that's what did it. It hasn't happened in a long time though. I was just being paranoid to pack the Ace cuff. It actually makes it hurt a little less when I type... mostly... or moves it around a little... though... probably I should just shut up.
always and any time....
