Playing at trains

I just finished my rewrite of the GODDAMN pit bull polemic. The GODDAMN pit bull polemic is now a final draft, and here's hoping that I'll never have to look at it again, because if I have to choose between the words "dog", "breed", "pit bull", or "animal" one more time, it's possible my lower jaw will unhinge and my brain will spill out of my mouth, all down my shirt, and onto the floor.

It was a good weekend. There was much walking. My dog is pleased.

Today I went to the Endowment Lands with my mother, my brother, and his friend Rosyln. I didn't dress warmly enough because the sun was out and I hadn't noticed ice on the ground until we got into the woods. My hands were numb after ten minutes, and we walked for more than an hour. It didn't help that my brother is less than speedy. He tends to plod. I couldn't sprint along gasping and screaming the way I wanted to without seeming like a total show-off. So I started to freeze. I borrowed my mother's gloves but I couldn't feel them, and I couldn't get Happy's leash on when I tried. I was miserable and stoic.

We got back to the car, finally, and somebody had backed up practically on top of it, so that their van's bumper was nudging ours. We were commenting on that when a very old man popped up from behind the van and yelled "You think you'd have more brains than that! How do you expect me to get my wife out of here with her wheel chair? You see that our house has a wheel chair ramp? What do you think about that?!"

Our car hadn't really been in the way of his ramp at all, but he was freaking out anyway. His wife had Parkinsons and was completely out-of-it, this little curled up ghost with a beard. We ended up helping him hoist her from the van to the sidewalk, using an incredibly ungainly wooden contraption that looked like he'd built it himself. As soon as he realized we were helping he apologized for screeching at us and became very genial. He really couldn't have gotten his wife into the house alone. That's why he was so upset. It was sad and gratifying, and weird.

I had gotten so cold that I couldn't get warm. We went to White Spot for lunch, and I burnt my tongue trying to swallow hot tea. It didn't help. I was freezing and incredibly tired. It worried me that I wasn't even shivering. My mother made some comment about how fast I was eating and I had to restrain myself from hitting her. I was crazy. In the bathroom, I ran my hands under hot water and it was like the heat wouldn't penetrate my skin. Finally we left and I got home and got into the hottest bath I've ever had. My skin practically fell off, and still I was cold. I started feeling very sorry for myself, while at the same time finding the situation very interesting and compelling, and wanting somebody to come talk to me so I could tell them about it. I'm such a narcissist when I'm sick. It's ridiculous.

At some point I got out of the water and crawled into my room, too weak to take my glasses from the edge of the bath (which struck me at the time as a sure sign that I was dying), and got under the covers of my bed, still wrapped in towels, all wet and boiled. It was terribly sad and dramatic. I assure you that I looked lovely in my bright red skin and towels. I tried to sleep, but that didn't take, so I tried some singing, and that was better. Are you picturing me singing feebly, in my flat nothing voice, under the covers? Good. Because that's how sad it was.

Eventually I warmed up and my body was one big pulse. It became less fun to be dying. Also, I realized I wasn't going to die. So I got out of bed.

That was today. Yesterday I walked with Marc. Then I spent time with Emily and she gave me a piece of Kangaroo skin. That makes sense if you know that she was in Australia recently, visiting her mother, and that Australians treat kangaroos like cattle. Also: we drove around in Emily's big-ass truck. Also: I had a really great sandwich in deep cove. Also: we watched Sex in the City and it was bad.

Fin!