All I have to do is drive a quarter of a mile to the laundromat to drop off my clothes and damn it. Air Bud is on television and I can't break away from it. What's wrong with me? It must be the medication. It has to be.

I went to the orthopedic doctor yesterday. He told me that I had a broken shoulder and fractured ribs and would feel better in a month. I'll write you a prescription for a different painkiller, Ultracet, he said. This one won't make you loopy... and it doesn't, although it's not nearly as effective as Vicodin. My entire body itches like crazy. Rumor has it that it's The Opiates. Ugh.

In a related need for painkillers, Erin got hit by a car last week. She was walking through the parking lot at her work when an illegally-parking car backed over her, knocking her to the ground and slapping her face with its bumper. The car finally stopped, although she is not sure if it's because she was screaming "stop your car! stop your car!" or if it's just because the car finished parking. When the couple got out of the car, imagine their disbelief. They offered to buy her a sandwich, as they were on their way into Subway. Erin, dazed and disoriented, said no thank you and walked to the bus stop. The couple let her walk away. Luckily Erin had enough sense to copy down their license plate. It's been a week and she's in a lot of pain. Which bring my story full circle to the Vicodin... she slept over last night so I could bring her to work in the morning. I gave her a pill to help her sleep. It is probably illegal but she was under my supervision. At the mall last night, she also bought one of those foam pillows developed for NASA. She probably would have had a much better night's sleep had we not stayed up giggling until 2:45am.

Now it's mid-Saturday morning. I've already brought Erin to work, drove Mu Son to the bus station (where he caught a bus to the mountains to snowboard alone today), and I am currently fighting every urge to go back to sleep. The good news is that with a broken shoulder, I now have an excuse to drop off my laundry and not feel guilty. I will be sure to wear my sling so that they know that I'm not just dropping off my laundry because I am lazy. Okay, okay. Two parts injury, one part lethargy. I love having my laundry done.

Oh: This morning Mu Son told me a girl at my school died of meningitis last week. That's terrifying. School officials are trying to ease public concern by promising that she had limited exposure to others. How awful.

I woke up at five this morning. I ate breakfast, washed my hair (big commitment in the morning), stopped for coffee, took the light rail (and then the bus) to work and had every intention of completing my day. My bus driver said, "Good morning, stranger!" to me. He remembered me! When I was car-less, I'd bring him a blueberry muffin every Wednesday morning. Then I got a car and dropped RTD services like a hot potato. They put in a new shelter at the stop--that was nice to see. Now all they need to do is heat it. Oh, and put in a french bistro next door. There is a new Starbucks across the street. Not nearly the same as a bistro but oh, how things change in three months. Anyway, I made it halfway through the day. Around lunchtime is when I was told to go home. I kept reinjuring myself by walking into door frames and walls and stuff. I think I made everyone nervous; they told me to take the week off. I took the bus back to school, which is where I transfer to the light rail. Once on campus, however, I was able to guilt myself into going to the library to research Colorado Senate Bill 00-186 (school report cards...sigh. I shan't get started on my frustration). I ran into Erin who wanted me to go listen to Michael Moore give some talk tonight but I sensed that gun control and its surrounding politics were not part of the healing aura my co-workers had in mind when they sent me home today. I am 0 for 3 this week in classes. Tonight was the only one that I regret missing because he makes us write essays if we miss class. Eh.

My reliance on pain killers vexes me. I am irritable and incoherent when I am taking them, albeit pain-free (save for when I walk into doorways. The pain killers do nothing for the sting). When I don't take them, I am fully coherent, amiable and consumed with gut-wrenching pain. I was able to get my research done, though punctuated with the occasional "ow. ow. ow." On the ride home, I chatted amicably with a girl about France and French and Je Ne Sais Quel Autre. Were I doped up, I could have managed maybe a "Huh?" with a Parisienne sneer and toss of my hair. I don't know how drug addicts do it. It's driving me crazy. I need the hurt to stop.

I didn't go to work yesterday. I didn't do much of anything. I finally washed my hair and then took the light-rail to school, with every intention of going to class. Alas, I was far-too-drugged to sit through a three-hour class. I told my professor that I was pretty sure that I would cry or confess my love to everyone in class if I stayed. He agreed that I shouldn't go to class. Erin and I went to the library instead and ate the leftover pizza she had in her backpack. Then we took the bus to the 16th Street Mall and walked around. I didn't feel guilty once for not being in class. That's how good the pizza was. Spinach and Pine Nuts. Mmm. I didn't go to work again today. I can't believe how easy it is to sit around and convalesce. I don't feel sorry for myself. I just don't feel like doing anything.

This is the email I just sent my professor for tonight's statistics class:

I am writing to tell you that I can't come to class. I cracked a rib and chipped my shoulder while snowboarding on Sunday. As I am heavily medicated, I am pretty sure it's in my best interest to stay home tonight.

I have spoken with my group and they said that they will give me the notes from tonight's lecture.

Thanks,
Rebecca

Here's his reply:
Feel better soon.

Cracked ribs are painful, I know.

Gabriel
I cannot contain the excitement of my life when I do absolutely nothing. I think I am going to go watch daytime television. I may even walk to the coffeeshop later.

I went snowboarding yesterday. My brother's best friend has been trying to teach me how to snowboard, off and on for the past three years. This is my first dedicated Colorado winter season to learning the sport, so we've been going up every weekend. Still I am awful. Since Mu Son is so much better than I am, we decided to split up in the morning as there was fresh powder and I didn't want my clumsy ass keeping him from having fun. I'm awfully slow and fall all the time. I'm trying to overcome my fear of speed. The next time Mu Son saw me was at the bottom of the mountain, when he was standing in line at the lift. As he was waiting. he happened to look behind him and see me being pulled off the stretcher. Oh yes. It was the moment where I was trying to overcome my fear of going too fast that I went too fast and fell. At first all I could do was make this god awful sea otter bellow noise, gasping for the air that was knocked out of me. Two men immediately stopped to help me, as they saw me clutching my stomach and rocking to and fro as I bellowed loudly. One man went to get help as the other removed my snowboard for me. I finally caught my breath but then exploded into noisy and horrible sobbing. The man tried to calm me down, but once I gained my senses, I realized just how hurt I was. Mike Somebody from New Zealand helped me into a stretcher and skiied me down the mountain. I screamed the whole way. Three hours later, I was a cracked rib and a chipped shoulder hurt. They gave me a sling for my arm and told me to take pain pills as necessary. I'd feel better in a few days, they told me. Now I am all hopped up on Vicodin and trying to find a way to wash my hair while I finish eating this roast beef and horseradish sandwich that is so good. I can't leave its side but I must find a way to wash my hair. It's at times like these when inventions are born... a plastic bag/plate specially designed so that you can eat your sandwich while in the shower. I must have one. I love this sandwich.


I told Mu Son that I wasn't going to give up snowboarding on account of my injury. My brother (who, with his wife and daughter, amazingly drove up into the mountains to rescue my drugged-up ass and Mu Son's driver's license-less ass) said that if I stopped doing everything I hurt myself by, I'd never be able to leave the house. Point taken.

I found a catchy song to memorize!

I am somebody!

---

Who is this on the radio... I must know. I can't wait until the end of the song. I am going to call the radio station... I know the voice. It sounds like someone I know well... Oh! It's Galaxie 500. Same voice as Luna. That's why I know the voice and not the song. Note: Buy more Galaxie 500 CDs. "This is our music" is the name of the CD, according to Milkman Dan.

There was little to no traffic this morning. I am surprised by how many people have President's Day off. I sure don't. I worked less than 40 hours last week. I asked my boss if she was going to fire me. She said yes, pack my bags. I said "good, I'm going snowboarding then." She said she wasn't serious. Dammit.

This weekend, I did my own laundry. Eh. It's so much easier dropping it off. They fold it for you and it always smells so nice. Average weight of one month of laundry: 22 pounds. For 75cents a pound, it's worth it. Except that by the time I finished cleaning on Saturday, it was too late to drop off my month's laundry for same day service and I needed it for the next morning. So I did it myself. It wasn't as bad as I remember. It's still nicer having it done for you.

Yesterday I went snowboarding. I finally understand what it means to be rhythmic. I remain sans rhythm and continue to cruise down the mountain pretty darn erratically, but I Understand what rhythm can do for me.
This week: Memorize tune to catchy song.


Saturday: Keep song in head as beat promotes rhythm while riding down mountain.

I know that I am foreign to the world of the Wild West, but why does everyone at the company insist on calling me ma'am? Thank you, ma'am; Yes, ma'am; Excuse me, ma'am. It makes me feel so old. Sigh. Is it a cowboy thing? Or am I just old?