I thought you’d like to know my progress so far on this month’s activities as outlined yesterday:
1. Yoga. Check.
2. Running. Nope.
3. Cycling. Check.
4. The Blog Thing. Check. I’m here, aren’t I?
5. The Novel Thing. I’m only behind 1667 words to stay on track. In other words: haven’t started yet. And that may be the last I write about it all month.
1. Alcohol. Uh, backsliding already.
2. Eating. I broke down and bought a package of Jack Link’s Fajita Chicken Sticks at Wal-Mart today. Is that food? Perhaps it doesn’t count. It didn’t taste like food. Otherwise, I’m good.
3. Sleeping. Too early to tell. I was maybe only joking about that one anyway.
So on my bike ride today, while breathing the smell of zillions of dusty leaves that have largely fallen from the trees and so uncovered unsightly sights all over, including the creepy abandoned house located mere feet from my driveway and from the windows of my children’s bedrooms, leading me to think seriously of meth labs and/or axe murderers possibly taking up or already having taken up residence in said boarded-up dwelling and making their stealthy way ever so slowly toward my house to maybe borrow a cup of sugar or ephedrine or crack or something, I saw something worthy of talking about.
You have to know that I’m still a little freaked out while riding on roads where there are actual cars. I almost was hit by one last summer, and that’s made me a little cautious. So now I tend to ride where the cars aren’t, and I look around to make sure they’re not going to suddenly and inexplicably veer toward the shoulder. I know they are, not that they intend to but it’s rather like how I feel when up on the roof of a tall building (long story), when I know, I just know, that my legs are going to cause me to hurl myself over the precipice and it’s all I can do to keep myself from leaping over that edge, drawn as I am hypnotically to the wall, the silly three-foot high wall that no one pretends would keep someone like me from jumping over as if a chip was implanted in my brain that caused me to do so whenever I was on a building more than six stories high.
So here’s an oncoming car on a lonely country road, and I can see the driver clearly. Well not so clearly because I can’t really get a fix on the gender. But there’s someone in the passenger seat leaning in toward the driver, maybe about 16-17 years old, and the passenger is kissing or maybe even licking the neck of the driver. I can’t actually tell the gender of either occupant, but the driver’s face clearly says OH GOD FUCK FUCK FUCK THERE’S A BICYCLE AND WE’RE GOING OVER A BRIDGE AND OMIGOD I JUST GOT MY FUCKING PERMIT AND I HOPE I CAN STEER THIS GODDAMN CAR STRAIGHT OMIGOD OMIGOD OMIGOD AND WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT???
It’s so nice to think I’m being thought of by a perfect stranger even when they’re possibly having an orgasm.
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