I rarely remember to check the weather report. Instead, I rely on rumors. Of course, after all of the injuries I have sustained over the years, my bones are a pretty good indicator of impending damp.
The pain in my left shoulder that extends down to my waist can only be described as green: it is envious of my day-to-day plans, demanding all of my attention. Several hours ago, I wandered out into the kitchen to search for some pain killers, but I have a terrible tendency to become distracted. Instead I fixed a tuna fish sandwich, which I shared with Ashlie, and vacuumed my apartment.
Perhaps it is just because I am in full tilt aversion mode since tax season is upon us. Despite the extension until April 18th this year, I have a massive amount of receipts to sort and justify. With my memory issues, it’s a bit like going though someone else’s life.
For example, I was reminded exactly when it was that my shoulder was injured. February 23, 2010. Or at least that was when I bought the sling. A few days before, I had been told that an impending wintery mix, the bane of scooter travel, was due. I needed to meet a student at 8:00 am, and the quandary began: wake at the cold predawn hour of 6:00 am and walk, pester a friend for a ride, or chance the scooter.
The road was a little slick, but I decided that if I could make it two blocks from my house (convenient dragging distance), I would chance taking the scooter to work. The main road was not much better than the poorly maintained block I live on in North end, but the exhaust from other cars had melted two ice-free tracks I could drive the scooter on. No problem. Sorted.
Except that eventually, I had to make a turn and cross the slushy middle of the road. The scooter went one way and I bounced in the other direction into on-coming traffic. While I was not severely injured (my umpteen layers of clothing left me with mild road rash, lots of bruises, a twisted/bruised ankle, and a crumpled feeling in my left wrist and shoulder), I was disappointed that none of my fellow motorists stopped to see if I was ok as I dragged myself and the still idling scooter from the roadway.
If driving a scooter teaches you nothing else (besides how to inconspicuously run red lights and securely bungee strap groceries to your own leg), it will teach you to rely on yourself and be prepared. It was not my first wreck on the scooter, of course. Just my most painful. Except when storms are in the forecast, I can say it was worth it for the bragging rights that sling earned me.
So tonight, I am trying to rest my bones, thankful that my massage therapist has an opening tomorrow.
But what the heck does this have to do with plastic bags? Um, I’m getting to that.
[Image from www.bagladyproductions.org, the cool website of Shirley Lewis, the Irish baglady who is environmentally conscious]
Since my little sister gave me her old car, the scooter has been in storage. Driving a beat up Hyundai that smells like gasoline inside is surprisingly devoid of street cred or bragging rights. The best I can do is complain about the alignment, the broken radio, or the spots of old dog’s blood on the front passenger side seat (did I mention my sister works at a vet hospital?).
I find the lessons I learned from my scooter driving days are wearing off; I am losing my edge. Here is an example:
During the summer of 2009, I was caught in a torrential storm while driving the scooter to a class I was teaching. By the time I got to work, I had to pour water from my shoes, my backpack, and the pocket of my raincoat. I wrung out my socks and taught from soggy books for the rest of the day. After that I learned the invaluable-ness of plastic bags, like the kind you get from the market. I never left home without several after that day. I was always prepared and began compiling my list of 101 uses for plastic bags (apparently others share my love of the plastic bag).
Nevertheless, since getting the car in the spring of 2010, I have stalled the battery six times from leaving the headlights lights on. Am I prepared with jumper cables? No. The phone number of campus safety in my cell phone so they can come and give me a jump? Nope. Even a Post-It note on the dash reminding me to turn off the lights? Nuh-uh.
So, as I sit in pain that could have been alleviated hours ago, I realize I need to return to my baglady roots. Because you never know what might happen.
*Note: This blog is meant for edutainment purposes only, and to that end, I may occasionally use some literary license, which may also entail creative math when calculating deductions. I mean, after all, eloquent teaching and solid composition rely on clearheadedness, clearheadedness is derived from stress reduction, stress reduction is best achieved from a release of built up pressure, a proven way to release built up pressure is through play, and what better to play with than adult toys? Logically then, anything purchased from Babeland.com is a necessary work expense. Logically.
Living on the Green Edge 