This whole sleepy thing? It’s like an extreme sport, only you don’t get sweaty or sore or Gatorade. This morning while driving home, I was making an extremely difficult turn (other people know it as “left”—I know it as “concentrate very hard right now”) and I almost turned in front of a white VW because it was white. Really. Somehow, the car didn’t count because it was so pale. Not a real car. Okay to turn left in front of.
I exaggerate a little, and the steering wheel didn’t even turn (that much), but I had that stupid-decision-immediately-followed-by-shocked-realization moment, where you blink rapidly and mutter things like, “jeez, sorry dude, tired, stupid, orange marmalade, TURN SIGNAL, MORON” at yourself. Then you make the turn and you iMEEjatly forget what just happened and you think only about the fact that you’re in LOVE with the new CD in your stereo. I am one of the six best multi-taskers in the world, but not when I’m that dang exhausted. I can drive. Or I can listen to music. Doing both at that point is not intelligent. But, eh. I’m training for a marathon. Talk to me about intelligent after December 12th. (Mom, I don’t write things like this to freak you out, I swear I don’t. I’m fine. I slept well today.)
The CD: It followed me home, I swear it did. It was on my doorstep when I woke up, and it’s totally my new favorite CD (I know I had a new favorite last week, but I have no problem with musical infidelity). It’s The Knitters Poor Little Critter on the Road. It was hard to move that rock I’ve been living under ‘cause it was heavy as hell, but finding out that X did a y’alternative album with Dave Alvin kinda blew my mind. And come on. The name of the band? That’s the reason it ended up on my porch. That and I must have done something very right to have warranted such an amazing Wednesday gift.
Let’s talk for a minute about the person who gave it to me, shall we? Let me introduce you to her, formally. Knitblog world (and other esteemed guests), this is Lala. Yes, that’s her name. It doesn’t actually say Banjo Girl on her driver’s license, as surprising as that might be. I gave her the nickname in haste, but it has become clear that she is more than that. As Banjo-Guitar-Fiddle-Accordion-LapSteel-Mandolin-
Harmonica-and-Vocals Girl is a little unwieldy, as she herself points out, from here forward she will be called by her name. It’s a good one, too. It took me a while, honestly, to get used to saying Lala: I wanted to throw an R into it somewhere, or I got stuck and landed on just one La and then just felt awkward, holding an extra la in my hand, trying to stick it behind my back where no one would notice, but it rolls off my tongue now.
(I just had a random memory of a boy I used to know. He didn’t want me to know he was smoking one day when I saw him outside, so he put the cigarette behind his back.)
Enough for now. I promised myself some writing time, and then a run. And then perhaps coffee with said Lala before work, if I’m lucky. And tonight is my last night working for eighteen days! Yowza!
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