Thursday already?
Yesterday was kind of the worst. Because I’ve moved three times in the past two years (how is this possible? and yet it is) I never got my renewal notice for my car registration. So I got a ticket on Tuesday, and then I got a ticket the next day as well, which I picked up as I was heading out to the DMV. (Two tickets for the same thing hardly seems fair. Questions will be raised later to the appropriate authorities.) Then, my car didn’t start. I called a car service for a jump and tipped the man. Then I went to the DMV, for a mercifully brief visit, spent some cash there, went to meet Rosie for lunch, parked my car, and then it wouldn’t start again. Another jump, another ten bucks.
Then I drove to my mechanic, a nice man, a father who talks about his daughter proudly, who said, “Are you ok? You don’t look so good.” And then I CRIED. “Hey, It’s only money,” he said. “At least you got your health.” And then he cut me a deal on a new battery.
Later I went out with an old friend for a few drinks and we caught each other up on the last year or so of our lives. I told him about my ankle. My ankle is such a huge thing in my life. It throbs and glows from down below. Talk about me, pay attention to me. I wonder if there will ever be a time when a day can go by without me thinking about it. Like I never think about my elbows ever. I want that kind of relationship with my ankle. Ankle, we need to talk.
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This weekend is the debut of the Largehearted Lit reading at the Knitting Factory in Brooklyn. Sunday, 5 PM. Libba Bray and Lev Grossman will read. There will be music. There will be books for sale. There will be cocktails. I very much hope to see you all there.
