Thursday, March 1

life of crime and climb

You may recall several posts ago, I wrote about a particularly trying day. Well, I've decided this post is a sequel to that, which we shall call 'Ever have one of those days...part 2: The Week.'

It started with me getting four traffic tickets in one day. How...gasp...what...gasp....did you do that? Well, I'll tell you. I was on my way to the mountains to see Mountain Guy and Co., when I apparently paused at a stop sign rather than coming to a full stop. OK, there was no getting around that one. But then the officer who kindly pulled me over issued me a written warning because I could not find my insurance card right away. Now, was that necessary? I ask you.

What happened later that day was even less necessary. I was on my way home from Wing Stop with some sort of hot meat pieces, sometimes known as hot wings, but this particular variety looked more like something vaguely resembling meat, masquerading as hot wings. But I digress.

I had just turned onto a new road and was aware of a car tailgating me. Then I saw a person in the middle of the road ahead, but did not realize this person was a police officer until I was passing her and she yelled at me to stop. Stop I did, and then the car behind me stopped in my bumper.

Twenty minutes later, I left the scene with less-than-hot wings and citations for speeding and careless driving. Thankfully my car only suffered minor scuff marks on the bumper. My morale, however, was nearly totaled.

But the next day brought renewed resolve and a taste of imminent victory. I drove to my aerial fabrics class in the morning (very cautiously). This alone was a victory because I'd missed the week before when I was sick. I nearly passed out during the warm up, but as the class progressed, so did I.

Interestingly, my instructor had developed tendinitis in her left elbow, and was forced to baby that arm, putting the greater workload on her right arm. After I struggled through pull ups on the fabric, holding on with only one arm, I was delighted to see her struggle to do the same with her good arm.

"Wow, that's hard," she said breathlessly. I tried not to beam. Actually, it was unexpectedly encouraging to be reminded how challenging it was for me, when I am used to watching more bilaterally gifted individuals accomplish in a few lessons what I struggle with for months.

Then yesterday, what started as an innocent trip to the salon for MG to get his wooly hair tamed into a new do, ended with an emotionally charged discussion of challenges to the harmony of our attachment. For the third time this week, I found myself pulled to the side of the road. My black-eyed ego was starting to feel nauseous.

Did I not get the memo about a shift in the cosmos?

I decided to walk to the courthouse today. I don't know if this was because I'm feeling strapped for cash or because I didn't feel like looking for a parking spot, or just to stick it to the man in whatever small way I could.

There is little more demoralizing than traffic court. I sat in a room of benches with other lawless ragamuffins, called up to speak to the judge one at a time in front of everyone.

"You can plead guilty or not guilty," the administrative assistant explained. "Or, you can plead no contest, but that could lead to jail time."

Jail time! I tried to imagine myself behind bars. It was a strange few seconds. I decided to plead not guilty, though I did consider how jail time for the one-armed girl might make for a good blog post. I'm not above anything, law included, when it comes to getting good material. I did want a chance to tell my side of the story, but the judge would have to do for an audience.

When I returned home and opened up my email, I found a message from the agent I had queried for representation of my memoir at the beginning of the year. She "regretted to inform me..." You know the rest. So I opened a new folder on my desktop called "Rejections" and plunked it in.

The highlight of aerial fabrics came at the end of class, when my instructor found a way for me to climb more than my previous record six inches off the ground. With a classmate sitting as a base on the fabric, I was able to hook each foot in one ribbon and work my way up like a lizard scaling a wall. Finding myself a few feet from the ceiling, I was elated. Several people took photos; helps to be a freak.

But having that photo as proof of just one obstacle overcome is getting me through this week.

It might even get me through my upcoming trial. Or maybe I could get it tattooed for cheap in jail.