Nude sunbathing 911

I am a firm believer in the wheel of fortune. If things go badly, they will always turn around again for the better to the same degree. Because of this, I am going to illustrate to you how I am certain that I am about to win the lottery, or that something else equally crzy-great is about to happen.

You all know by now that I have a badly broken leg that is slowly but surely on the mend. I’ve been trying hard to keep my spirits up and have been doing this mostly by spending time with friends and playing fiddle.  I get irritable and pissy about not being able to dance and run but mostly forget about it once I’m back doing things that I equally love, thus the playing music and such.

It’s like this: right now, my life is like a giant canoe I have fallen out of into a cold swamp. Since I’m up to my ass in muck, all I can do is laugh about it.  So, for weeks, I’ve been thinking: What worse could go wrong now?

And, surely things were definitely looking up.A week or so ago I even got the chance to spend more time with a friend who for months has been gently drawing me in with his curious gaze terrific, sweet nature, and clever sense of humor. (I won’t say more for fear he’ll catch me waxing poetic about him on my blog, which I know can be a creepy feeling.)

So what more could go wrong? I figured, hey … my luck’s chomping at the bit to change.

Enter crazy drama.

One day, things are peachy, and the next I’m finding out that my mom has a degenerative condition in her back, my grandpa has cancer, and I have a disgruntled ex-boyfriend calling 911 saying that he is somehow convinced thatI am going to commit suicide by taking all of my pain meds.  I first learn about this on my very own fire department-issued pager, and think, “Wait, they’re coming to my house?”

So here I am, taking all of this in stride, and doing pretty darn well considering, having just visited the firehouse and gone to PT, and my coworkers and an amblulance and a few cops are suddenly walking in to my house as I am sitting on my couch chatting idly and ridiculously with Christine about how I was going to make kickass pesto this weekend and wondering if a matzoh bikini is kosher for passover.

“Um, why are you here?” I ask.
Then, I get the story of why they are there. (Loony tunes 911 call.)

Well, ok, I fess up.  I talked to the guy earlier that day.  I was seriously pissed at him for some seriously messed up stuff and had just found out the whole mom-sick-grampa-cancer bit. So, when he asked me to chat  online with him I said something like ‘If you want to talk to me in person that’s fine but I am sick of being treated like a non-person by you and if you’ll excuse me I need to go take some pills.’

Meaning: fuck you, I had PT and my leg hurts, I need to take half of a Vicodin.

Not: My life is over! Swoon! (Ask me how I have suffered.)

Meanwhile, it becomes clear to my co-workers that they do not like this guy and they don’t really care what role I had anyway, since I’m pretty much fine and chatting with Christine online.  So they decide they want to throw the guy down the stairs-ish, which I don’t think is a good idea because I am sure that the guy is more than a little emotionally unstable and really genuinely trying to protect me from certain death. So, unable to think of what to do (I’m not well versed in these types of situations) I clam up.

Later, I feel like nuclear fallout. I’ve talked to every friend I can call, shaken like a leaf, cried, and played violin to no avail.  There is only one thing left: take my clothes off.

I go up to Wendell and strip on the deck and lay down next to Christine, who has become a yoga nun (= no sex, only yoga. All yoga, all the time). “The only thing that’s going to touch this yoga nun’s goods is the sun, she says.” At this point, since I’ve been single for a while now I have to agree. After all the drama, a sunburn on my goods is the least of my worries.

So here I sit, in Wendell and in hiding, canoeing and tanning my bare ass.  You know what? I think I’ll stay here till Thursday, when I think I have a date.

And, damn, I’m going to be tan for it.