This morning: BANG BANG BANG (dog barking) I stagger down to the front door and a kindly neighbor in a chapeau lets me know my car has been broken into, window smashed. Serves me right for leaving my ancient ipod in there. Glass all over the inside, and in the driveway.
I've had my car back from the body shop for exactly 2 weeks. All sides of my car have been smacked, in different accidents (well, the last one wasn't my fault-I backed into some lame concrete posts in the dark on my way to a birth). Actually, none of the accidents were my fault. I hesitate to mention this, but a drunken guy stepped out in front of my car and I, uh, knocked him down. I wasn't going very fast, he was reeling around, accompanied by his more sober friend who insisted that I NOT take him to the ER (maybe he had more on board than alcohol). I checked him all over in my maternal nursey way and he kept insisting he was fine. I felt HORRIBLE. I also recently got a warning from a cop when I tried to go around a car at a crosswalk in a school zone. No, I didn't crash into any school children, thank the lawd in heaven.
Is it time for my children to take away my car keys? Is it the bright blue of my car? Is it some hoodoo that needs exorcism? Smudging? Chanting and singing? What, tell me, what should I do?
Meanwhile, Deb and Felix and I are going to have a puppy class on Thursday. With someone who's WEB site is called 'Sensitive Dog"
And here I will officially admit it. I'm reading Tina Fey's 'Bossypants' on a Kindle Fire. Deb got one from work for selling a butt load of vitamins or something. I feel like a hypocrite or worse. ((((however, in my evil leetle heart, it's way cool and I can read in bed in the dark without disturbing my honey with the sound of pages turning.))))
I want my poetry book to be on paper, made from trees. And a cover with groovy art. And binding glue and all.