Last night I was about to go meet Mindy on my bike when she was done with work, except my front tire was flat (good thing I checked it before I opened the door).
She ended up taking the bike on the subway home, and I tried for an hour to replace the tube. Getting the tire off was tricky at first since I'd never done it--but I figured it out! The hard part was realizing that the replacement tube JB had lying around--its valve wasn't super long, so it didn't poke through enough through the rim/wheel. I didn't figure this out until after I grunted my way trying to get both tube and tire back on the rim, and tried to inflate the tire.
So I took everything off again only to push the valve as far as it would go, enough to barely catch with the head of the bike pump. My thumbs bled while putting the tired back on the rim because I think the skin would get caught/stretched and pulled a little away from my nail. Gross, sorry.
What I really only had to share was after doing all this--bleeding thumbs, and multiple attempts, I got it on, started pumping--only to have the tube explode. The PSI wasn't even that high (higher than the limit). I think I must have done something wrong--a part must have been pinched somewhere, or the valve just wasn't right with the wheel.
When the tube exploded there was this dust cloud, and my right ear went deaf for a bit.
I was so frustrated I took a time out on the couch. It's okay, of course--I really tried to do it myself, and maybe the next time I try, it'll work.
It's mostly frustrating that I had to take the train to work today. I miss riding my white horse. Somehow, that name doesn't seem so suited to her anymore. Nameless. I miss riding my nameless.
Last night Mindy and made burgers again, and she makes these thick, perfectly shaped mounds of meat, and after biting into mine, I found the turkey in the center still a bit pink, so we put it back on the skillet. Except I had already eaten some of the pink part.
"Am I going to die, Mindy?" I asked.
"No, of course not!"
Even after it came back onto my plate, I think the meat was only a touch pink in one area, and I didn't care anymore and finished it.
I didn't really oversleep this morning, but usually I get up closer to 7am than 8am. At 7:44am, Mindy poked her head from the living room to call out my name, "Diana?"
She almost caught me sleeping topless, or maybe she did.
It turns out that she thought I had died in my sleep.
Instead, my sleep was indistinct, except for one scene where I was wearing all these hideous rings on 5 of my 10 fingers--ugly, worsted, wrought copper, iron, metal things with black and silver flower petals.
It looked like it hurt, but all I thought about were heat coils, and how the kettle on the stove is our white hen, roosting.
More and more I feel the Penelope gene/defect creeping up in me, and maybe it's something I have to settle down with, accept, embrace. To hold it and weave it with the rest of me. To just keep, and when I don't have anyone to talk to (which is now, which may be always), I'll just smear some carpal tunnel here. It'll be like Kythera, except less interesting.
My papermate life.
