Post Christmas

and listening to the Clash.  Sliced my finger open on Christmas, bad enough to ask someone to take me to the hospital.  Thankfully, there wasn't much of a wait, even if the care was slightlty questionable (how they dealt with the blood, they didn't look at it, didn't clean it, I pulled off the guaze and they glued it shut.  At least no stitches, though.)  It's been in a splint.  I can take it off tomorrow, I haven't looked at it, but it doesn't hurt, so I'll take that as a good sign.  In the meantime, I can't cook or anything, and I went to get my hair cut this afternoon just so someone could wash it.  (I've been needing to get it cut anyway, so did that too.)  And finally went to DSW to find a pair of dressy shoes so I could send the boots to be repaired.  I'm trying to not be in public too much, it's the middle finger and I appear to be flipping everyone off.  Someone said that at least the bandage looks like a bandage.

I'm typing with one hand.  No writing tonight.  I could probably do the Suzuki exercises, though.  And read a couple plays (Letts.)

I drove back early this morning, just as the sun had risen.  The passing of time did nothing to lighten the day.  The clouds were so heavy, hanging moodily in the forests.  There was no other traffic on the way to the ferry dock, I think I saw three other cars going the same direction the whole time.  (Lots of hawks, though.)

Now it's breaking up enough to allow for views of the stars and a half moon.  Time to stop typing.

Audition day

It wasn't raining when I left the house to go drop off my rent check. Four-blocks later, large drops fell, eight-blocks later, a full on downpour.  I pulled my hood over my head and zipped my jacket and walked on. The thin branches of the parking strip trees offered spotty shelter; I stood under a larger canopied and therefore more protective tree in a park for a few moments but then went on. My jeans got soaked. By the time I left the real estate office, the rain had stopped.  I guess the rent isn't actually past due until the 5th.

Stopped by a coffee house to finish reading the play again and to make notes as to what I am responding to in the monologue. Have recited it over and over and over again. It's anywhere between 50 seconds to one minute. I think I need to cut more, so I don't go over. Not sure what, it's getting pretty slim, content-wise.  I can't believe it takes a minute to say this.

While walking home, I was practicing saying the words "arctic cat" and making a face and cat claws while I said it, not really paying attention to where I was until I happened to look up and see a man inside a pet grooming shop looking at me oddly. Yes, it was later in the day than I thought, and there were people behind those windows I was passing. I was saying the monologue most of the way, too, so also talking to myself. Oh well.

Onward. It will all be over in less than twelve hours. This time.