Knowing what I do about Peter Cooper – a man who loved the chili at McSorleys and who fraternized unabashedly with feminists, people of color, labor organizers and abolitionists – I think my pal Xenia is on to something here.
I took a bad spill yesterday when I was leaving the house – no ice or anything, I just fell over, and landed right on my tailbone. It hurts SO BAD. I drove to work but should have turned around: 20 min into the trip I was crying. Walking around is ok, but sitting is not ok.
And then I got this on my trip home:
TRAFFIC. I think there was one of those oversized houses-on trailers tipped over. Regardless, the day I brutally injured my sitting parts was not the day I wanted to be stick in traffic for 2 1/2 hours.
This morning I begged off of a 100 mile drive to my job site for meetings and used the extra time in the morning to do my nails.
I am very tall. I have bright red hair. I have a black belt in tae kwon do. I knit. I try to spin my own yarn. I read voraciously and indiscriminately. I have a sewing machine, and I constantly plot the making of my own clothes. I like foods that go with red wine. The red wine is coincidental: I also like gin, the drink of washed up movie stars, and margaritas, the drink of pretending either that it is summer, or that what you do tonight won't matter in the morning. I am a motorcycle enthusiast, and I am plotting a carb breakdown to get my bike back on the road. I am a nerdy kind of girl but one with a goal to throw dinner parties wearing aprons and to keep jars of fresh flowers around my home.