By the by, I am now Sophie Ducat every day. That's right, I've got Freesia's morning boss...but whenever I feel like it.
I'm cheating right now. Tee hee hee.
You know that moment between "he's had an accident" and "he's okay; he's just shattered his pelvis" where everything else that could have gone wrong goes wrong? And that other moment when you have to call someone else and go through the same thing again and everything pretty much sucks even though you know your brother is okay even though he's being airlifted to Harborview due to a gear malfunction resulting in a motor bike accident and then you have to go to a meeting and tell people things you told them at the last three meetings and some of them still aren't listening?
Right. That's what happened right around 5:30pm today.
But he really is okay. This is the sporty brother, obviously. He's broken a variety of bones in a variety of ways his entire life, all of which have involved having been in the air and then landing. Skateboards, snowboards, dirtbikes...uh, the riding lawnmower. It's kinda like having lived on the farm: these things are expected. Not preferred, but there are things that are worse.
This is not to say that I don't worry. But it is to say that I don't want to take care of some Little Attic Birdy who thinks I need taking care of when all I want is to be left alone. I'd really prefer to talk to my own family and read quietly or talk to friends who know "he's okay" really means that and who then want to talk about other moments of horrible injuries. If he'd not been okay, well, then I'd be with my family or calling the Fat Boys and not wanting to hear about other moments of horrible injuries at all.
But, yo, he's okay. And he's going to be really pissed when those drugs wear off.
When I got home from teaching today, I found myself thinking "how strange that the sunlight is causing Gavin or Evan to look like the Avid Theatre Supporter..."
But it really was him (starts with "B" rhymes with "oling"). I tell you, it's fairly disconcerting to come home after a long day and then end up having to have a highly unanticipated twenty minute conversation with an in-his-60's man perusing an auction catalogue on your couch, perhaps even more disconcerting than having your director seriously ask you "how do you feel about wearing that corset, uh, by itself?"
In more concerting news, class today made me giggle. See, because we had to take some charcoal to a barbecuing gorilla and the only way to get the charcoal was to trick it away from the charcoal creatures. Charcoal creatures, as I'm sure you've suspected, are identifiable because they jump and wiggle around while tossing charcoal and yelling "Hot! Hot! Hot!" And everyone knows that the only way to get them to give you charcoal is to go up to them and yell "Lighter fluid!" in a very loud and scary voice.
And furthermore, I couldn't sleep last night because I'd taken four Excedrin to trick my head out of its four-day ache. This may or may not have affected my lesson plan.
In conclusion, I would like you all to know that I had the Best Picnic Ever with my father on Saturday. We got snackin's at Whole Foods, then went to Carkeek Park. After a lovely conversation, we decided we were going to walk down to the beach and also look at the train tracks. I took a little detour to the ladies room and when I came out, I couldn't find my dad anywhere. I thought he'd be standing around waiting, so imagine my delight when I heard him yell "Ida!" as he swung into view above some bushes, then immediately swung out of view, then back into view again. "Ida! The seats are high enough for grown-ups, c'mon!" And so my dad and I swung on the swings until he decided to jump off. Then I jumped off. Then we heard a train coming. My dad looked at me, yelled "Train!" and took off running toward the tracks.
Nature, nuture; potato, potahto.
UPDATE 9:57pm
The Avid Theatre Supporter just came back into my house and said "I'll just need to change into my bathrobe." When I asked if he wanted to use the bathroom to change, he just shrugged and started changing RIGHT FREAKING BEHIND ME WHILE I WAS WORKING.
(This is probably where I should mention that there is an actual reason that he was at my house, and that reason is a little Lefebvre-shot film for Keira's party.)
Five thousand five hundred eighty-three and two-tenths miles and I'm home.
Dang, y'all, our house is enormous.
I have written notes, photographs, tape-recorded notes and an uneven tan.
My state route went Washington, Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, New Mexico, New Mexico-Arizona-Colorado-Utah, New Mexico, Colorado, Utah, Arizona, Nevada, California, Oregon, Washington.
Insightful comments to come; right now it's time to read some Harry Potter in my very own bed.
Note to self: just because you are camping by yourself does not mean you are any more likely to be attacked by a bear. There is no need to smell water bottles and book pages for food traces. And quit worrying about your grapefruit-lime lotion. Bears are carnivores.