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05.16.2004 - 6:34 p.m.


I'm not sure if I've told you this before, but I am incredibly clumsy. I always, always have bruises everywhere from running into things. At least once a week I crash into my bedframe, or I stub my toe on my dresser, or I run directly into the side of a doorway, or I thwack my arm into an open drawer, or I cross my legs at work and bash into my G4. Something. It's always something.

I accept this as my lot in life, but what I'm not happy about is being MENTALLY clumsy, too. Mental clumsiness does not a fine decision make. When JB and I decided to drive down to their family cabin on Thursday for a long weekend getaway, I thought it would be a stellar idea if I spent a large majority of that trek down I5 pumping my arm at truck drivers and squealing like an idiot if they blew their horn in response. I also apparently thought it would be cool to act like the world's biggest jackass in front of JB's brother and girlfriend later that evening with only a thimbleful of sake to use as an excuse.

Perhaps that is not mental clumsiness, but early onslaught of senility? Can I play the senility card at 30? Because I'd hate to think I'm simply turning into a mouthbreathing fucknugget.

So - speaking of clumsiness in general, let's look at a scenario together, shall we? Let's say you need to pull a car door shut while you're sitting inside the car. Now, a typical physiological process would probably go like this:

BRAIN: Need to shut door. RIGHT HAND? Go and ahead and pull on the handle. Make sure the FEET are inside.

RIGHT HAND: Roger that BRAIN. FEET, heads up. Ok, pulling…now. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

BRAIN: Way to work, RIGHT HAND. Nice job, FEET.

However, due to all that mental clumsiness, let's say you decide to pull the door shut using the outside edge of the door, thinking that you will pull it almost all the way shut, just enough to get the door out of the way of the bushes you're trying to avoid. Then things might go like this:

BRAIN: Need to shut door partially. RIGHT HAND, it would be smarter to use the handle, but go ahead and pull on the edge. Watch those FEET.

RIGHT HAND: Uh, you sure about not using the handle?

BRAIN: Listen, who's in charge around here? Don't make me lop you off with the LEFT HAND because given enough psychosis I could totally fucking do that.

RIGHT HAND: 10-4 BRAIN. FEET? Out of the way. Pulling edge…now.

Now, thanks to the physical clumsiness, that pull turns into a mighty yank. In fact, let's say you go ahead and SLAM that fucker home. I mean, HARD.


BRAIN: Smooth move, Ex-Lax.

I slammed my hand in a car door. From the inside.

Have you ever had your hand slammed in a door? (Notice that I am not asking if you've ever slammed your OWN hand in a car door, because I am thinking that's reserved for those of us who ride the short bus.) It makes your hand turn pretty colors. If "a hideous leprous purple and black combo" means "pretty", that is. Also, your fingers will swell to surprising dimensions! Your knuckles will disappear entirely!

Obviously, I'm not typing this with a Bic pen taped to my mouth right now (or AM I?) so I don't think anything bonewise got smashed to calcium gruel, but jesus christ. Next thing you'll know I'll be rushed off to an emergency room because duh, silly me, I forgot how to work that whole inhaling and exhaling thing.

Like I mentioned, JB and I went to his family cabin for the last four days. This is a nice place on the Umpqua River in southern Oregon. On the slimmest of chances that you are familiar with various BFE locations in Oregon, it's in a place called Wells Creek near Elkton.

JB's family has recently acquired another house next door to their cabin, a fixer-upper, so JB worked quite a bit while I lounged around with my finally-got-around-to-it-can't-believe-I-took-so-long copy of Wolves of Calla. We relaxed together. Dog swam almost constantly. We walked and looked out at rolling hills, the curving river, the dark green of timber and the bright yellow scotchbroom. I saw ospreys and deer and elk and wild turkeys. We had a nice time.

Thanks for your nice words lately. When you're going through a hard time, it makes a huge difference to have support. Regardless of whether we've met in person, your kindness makes a huge impact on me. Thank you for that.

And with your willingness to be open with me, some openness in return:

- My name is Linda. Hi. Nice to meet you. You can keep on calling me Sundry, though. I like it. It sounds like "sultry". Heh.

- JB's name is John. You can call him JB, he likes that too. It stands for "Johnny Bravo". Heh.

- The italicized words in my last entry were pulled verbatim from John's recent emails to me. He's a keeper, don't you think?

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43 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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