Every time I think Im going to be able to post here more I run straight into work. Im planning a couple of literary festivals right now, and the big news is that Ive had a major breakthrough in my novel. Its a crime novel. I tried writing a Rex Stout inspired novel once and it just didnt work. Anyway, Im running a lot. Im off for a practice 10K in a few minutes around the Seal Beach course, and I often do two workouts a day. The juicing is still going well and the apartment complex is going to improve the building. It took me forever to hunt down tape players. Im talking months to get a walkman and boom box, which is vital for my mission. I spent about a month trying to transfer tapes onto CD, but that just didnt work. I know that some people out there in Internetlandia can do it, but it was just to many for my brainpan. The big news however was that I had another encounter with a wheely bagger. Most of the time I take the treadmill that points me at a wall. The other treadmills look out a window over a swimming pool. The pool is filled with children from all over the complex who have become friends with each other and splash about in a kind of halcyon dream of shared joy and bliss. Its joyful and beautiful in a way Norman Rockwell couldnt have imagines. I find all of that joy distracting, so I point myself at a wall and concentrate on not puking. Anyway, my preferred treadmill was taken, so I pointed myself at the pool and started plodding and sweating. After about 30 minutes, Id worked up a pretty good splash zone and a woman with her wheely bag wheeled over in front of me. Stopped directly there, turned, and stared at me. Now, she was probably looking for someone else in the gym, but she was parked in front of me and stared. She was angry too, her face the same face the nuns had back at Sacred Heart when theyd overhear one of our conversations. She stayed there glaring at me for a good 30 seconds of hell as I relived my childhood and dwelled on the fact that I havent been to confession since Ronald Reagan was a thing. At the end of the 30 seconds, I held my hands up in defeat, as though she were robbing me or something. She shook her head in a kind of disbelieving disgust and wheeled her bag away. What is going on? What could she possibly be doing? What are in those bags? Why do I feel happy that the wheely baggers are back?
Posted on: Wed, 29 Jan 2014 14:50:15 +0000
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