Bang Bang Bang

The last week has been a little Chaplin-esqe.

First, I get a black eye. It's kind of entertaining: I wake up every morning wondering what it will look like. It went from a light purple wash, to a darker, angrier purple right over the inside corner of my eyelid. Then the yellow started, right up to my eyebrow. An alarming canary yellow for a few days, fading out now to more of an old newspaper yellow. Will it turn green next? Isn't yellow the last stop for the bile of bruising? The good thing is that this aurora borealis light show is above my eyelid only, so, while I have been getting some weird looks from people, I think they are more of the "wow, you have some strange asymmetrical eyeshadow choices" variety, rather than, "oooh, your boyfriend do that?" Stella Kowalski I am not.

Then, on Monday night I went to drive to another all-killer-no-filler Fistful of Nothing show and whoops! where's my car? I park on the street, so I wandered around a bit thinking that maybe I parked it down the block and forgot? Then I wondered if recent blows to head (see above) have disturbed my brain in such a way that it would cause me to forget, like, giving the car away or something? Then I started to have to seriously consider that it was stolen. I stayed calm and logical, and was already wondering how much money I would get for it from insurance and if that would allow me to buy another nice old Volvo when the policewoman on the phone says, yep, looks like the Department of Transport has your car.

Well, yippee, but what the hell'd they tow it for? Because the plates still shout "foreigner"? Because it was broken into and they didn't want to leave it on the street?

According to the cryptic note on the ticket, I somehow managed to park my car blocking someone's driveway? What? Why would I do this? The Pixies have asked it before and I'll ask it again: Where is my mind? Not looking out for driveways, apparently. The lead singer of Fistful of Nothing kindly gave me a ride to get my car out of hock (nothing like picking up your car from the tow lot with a black eye; a classy feeling) and gave me a pat on the back when we learned how much the final bill was. I paid two weeks rent to get it back, and we drove home, my car and me. I know you're not supposed to feel emotional connections to big hunks of machinery, but I [heart] my car and I'm glad it wasn't hurt.

Also, I think I'm getting sick, despite guzzling vitamin juice and hearty soup. But that makes three, so the run should be over.