derien | (no subject)

Flexibility is a really good thing. I slipped on the front steps (Friday, just after my last LJ post), and for just a moment as I glanced back and saw my left heel above my left elbow I thought, "This could be bad." But I levered myself up with my arms, my leg popped back into it's normal alignment, and I sat and rubbed the achy spot in my thigh for a few minutes, then decided I was okay to continue on my way. Saturday when I woke up my knee was a little unhappy, and later I noticed the front part of my ankle was feeling a little overstretched (it still is), but I can't help but think it could have been much worse.

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When Eor came home (still on Friday, here) he picked up the mail and delivered a Christmas card from my Aunt S. (It had gone back and forth in the mail.) He commented that it's hard to know just how to react to her, sometimes, between her depressive tendencies and her chirpy voice. "It's like a chickadee that calls 'chick-a-dee-dee-dee-suicide!'" (Don't take that wrongly, because he likes her - I can't imagine how anyone couldn't.)

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I have a single glove sitting forlornly on top of my bureau (or at least I would have if it weren't for the moment covered in a pile of clothes I haven't put away, but that's beside the point) because I'm hopeful that it's mate might still turn up. Eor thinks I dropped it in a snowbank, somewhere, and he's probably right. I'm like that with gloves. I feel badly about it, because I hadn't had this pair very long. One of my co-workers gave them to me because his daughter gave them to him for some midwinter gift-exchanging holiday and they were too small. But that started Eor musing about the whole dropping gloves in the snow thing - "There should be a character in a story who collects gloves from snowbanks. Maybe takes them home and cleans them up, donates them." That was a few days ago, but as we were walking out to our favorite Indian restaurant the other night we passed a collection of gloves and hats on the sidewalk. Someone had obviously collected them from snowbanks - they were filthy - and spread them in a group where people could look them over.

"You thought it up and it happened!" I commented.

"Heinlein was right!" was Eor's response, "Myth as reality!"

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I keep going to the laundromat over at Westgate Plaza, even though the redheaded attendant who I liked seems to be gone; I haven't seen her since the incident where I wondered if she was trying to get my phone number. I was a little nervous to go back this week, though, because last week we had a bit of tension. The place was packed, and a big Black guy got into a loud argument with a little Hispanic woman. I was boggled when he yelled, "Do you want to step outside right now!?" and then he looked around and followed that with, "How many of you m----- f------ are IN here!?" (Probably half the crowd was Hispanic - none taller than halfway up his chest, but still.) At that point the attendant stepped in and calmed him down. He may have been glad of that, actually, because the same picture may have been dawning on him as I was imagining. Challenge a woman one third his size to fight? What was he thinking? He could have been killed. He was friendly, later, and I heard him trying to be helpful to one of the Hispanic guys, so I guess he's probably not a bad sort, really, just went off the deep end. (They didn't know each other, and near as I can tell they both were hauling their stuff in exactly oppositionally timed to each other and both tried to lay claim to the same washer, she by putting her things in front of it, he by leaning over her things - probably without even noticing them - and putting his things IN the washer, and then she took his things out.)

Thankfully it was much less busy this week. Although we were still all synchronized so that people were waiting in line for the dryers.