These shoes have no traction

I went over to Kim's place today and helped her de-tangle a massive ball of yarn, rusty purple stuff of an irregular consistency that reminds me of dreadlocks. It took all evening, but it was worth it, in an obsessive compulsive kind of way.

Kim lives right beside my old elementary school, on 7th, the street I grew up on. When we walked to Safeway to find cookie dough I got nostalgic . My dad used to walk to that Safeway every night to get cigarettes, chocolate, and sunflower seeds. Everyone in my family had some kind of oral fixation. I was the thumb sucker.

On Wednesday night Marc and I went to a cast and crew screening of Break a Leg, Rosie. I was glad to finally see the finished product. At the screening, a raffle was being held to help pay for somebody's cancer treatment, and I ended up winning it. So I went up in front of the audience where Paul, a producer, tried to hand me a fistful of bills. It turns out that it was a fifty-fifty raffle, so my prize was half of the money they'd raised for the woman fighting cancer. As in, "Congratulations, you've won a moral dilemma!" It would have been weird to take the money, right? So I very awkwardly gave it back to Paul, fumbling with coins and feeling like a complete idiot.

I have a new winter pea coat that keeps me really warm when it snows. And it's been doing that lately, so I'm all the more satisfied. Which reminds me that I have to rip out the stitches that are keeping the pockets closed. Pockets are necessary. Why would people close them up? It's like docking a dog's tail. Or less bad, but still doesn't make any sense. I need somewhere to put my hands.