Another Wait

So, the agent made contact yesterday, only to be told Mid-March for further word.

This is the gnawing-knuckle time.

I crave good news.

A Scare, and Loud Applause for Safety Gear

Well, I got hit today on the bike. A woman decided to cross the gore, and cut me off at about 25 miles per hour. I tried to stop, went up in an endo, bumped her rear quarter panel with my left handlebar, and went over.

I punched into the pavement, rolled, and came up looking for the license plate, worried I'd become a hit and run victim. She did the right thing and stopped. She was kind and concerned, and accepted her part. We exchanged information and I called CHP, if for no other reason than to get my bike off the freeway. One of the responding CHP Officers had just been in my court to testify.

Yesterday I spent almost seven hunderd dollars to tune the bike and replace the rear tire. Today it took a beating. Headlight broken, turn signals sheared off, foot peg broken, possible handlebar damage and who knows what else.

My right wrist is painfully stiff, my left foot hurts, and both my shins, just below the knee, are swelling nicely. I will not be feeling good tomorrow.

My wrist hurts from punching the pavement, my left foot was from hitting the pavement in the somersault, I think, and my shins are from my mirrors, one of which was stripped by the impact of my body. My helmet got a tiny bump, ripping the vanes that direct air into the helmet off. My laptop survived. My empty lunch tupperware did not.

Had I not been wearing the excellent safety equipment I always do, I would not be typing this now. Road rash alone would have put me in the hospital, and the impacts that so hurt my shins might have broken them.

Riding carries risk. Risk is something I manage by being as safe, knowledgable and observant as I can, always wearing the best safety gear I can.

Still, tomorrow is going to suck ass.

Shit I Can't Talk About...

Having shit I can't talk about sucks. Especially when the subject matter I can't talk about sucks. It all sucks, and not in a pleasant way at all. More in an industrial vaccuum way that pulls on and brutalizes the mind and heart as it strives to suck you into a tiny singularity.

Several more hours till I get my part in the suck over with. Then who knows how long till I discover what it all boils down to.

Damn, my keyboard needs cleaning.

So does my uniform.

And my mind.

April Ain't All That

God, but this April hasn't been kind to me so far.

Lost cellphone and wallet on Friday:

It will be some weeks before all the fallout from this is over with, if ever. If you are a reader and have my cell number, please text or call me with your current contact information.

Asshat comments from strangers on Sunday:

I already posted my thoughts on that. My blood is still a bit hot over it. I'm striving for the zone with it, but it is difficult.

I suffered from tank balls this morning:

I was caught by a heavy, localized rainstorm on my way into work. The rain was very cold, very heavy, and seemed to be falling just for me. After about ten minutes my hands went numb and I had a bad case of Tank Balls. For those of you who might not be familiar with the nomenclature of this terrible condition, allow me to illuminate for you: Tank balls is a condition brought about by the cold water sliding off the gas tank of a crotch-rocket or streetfighter-style motorbike and freezing the beans and frank. Uncomfortable, to say the least.

I lost my motorcycle key on arrival at work:

I found it about ten minutes later. Still, not fun. I believe I dropped it because of the numbness in my hands, not balls.

I then got asked if I slept in the wet spot:

As a symptom of tank balls, I had a spreading damp spot on my lower belly, which a sergeant and pleasantly attractive female officer were kind enough to point out to me.

I but said, "Tank Balls."

Their reply, a uniform, "?"

I described the condition, which garnered another laugh from them. While I am only too happy to please, they have obviously never suffered from the condition.

Here's hoping April improves. I need a crotch-blanket, a drink, a muzzle, and a month-long nap.