-road warrior-
while riding my bike home from work at night i realized a few things.
a. i'm a touch delusional.
b. Lost Angeles - she's a fragmented little lady.
c. the last hill to my pad is incorrigible. evil. the devil dressed in asphalt.
a small dose of delusion is a good thing. look at any beautiful down syndrome kid, despite a sisyphean life of ridicule and virginity that happy wonder has a big, gorgeous smile slobbered onto his face. first time riding my bike, i was slightly like this kid. i felt like i was rocky on a run, everyone i passed seemed to be cheering me on. big hello's, waves. it was like they all knew this was a major first for me, and all of los angeles was behind me.
which brings me to B). Los Angeles lives up to all her rumors. she's a fragmented little lady with a shiny, preening exterior and a brooding, obsidian interior. we transport around in our little moving auto-bubbles, untouched by the profanity someone nearby is belting out, or the curious glances, funny smells, and any other communal details one would be ensconced in if you were in, let's say, new york or almost any european walking city.
in a small community you don't scream at ned for cutting you off, because ned is your boyfriends second cousin who also is your butcher and will cut you a chuck steak and charge you for a tenderloin if you are an a-hole. in a real community, there's a natural flow of accountability. here in this big, meandering city, we are "the constant anonymous." and as a dutiful member of the constant anonymous i am a honking, full fisted speeding off-er with a cursing case of turrets.
taking me out of my bubble-mobile was like pulling back a thick muslin veil from my eyes. street bound by bike, i saw life like it was the first. the deep smiling crevices on a weathered face, the plump smell of clean from a churning laundry mat, a nurse walking gingerly on stiff feet wishing me a safe ride, a man who looked like he could really use his sandwich offering me a bite; it was like fragmented shards of life, scattered about for the eye to reassemble.
honestly, it touched me. until i was two breathes from collapse and i realized the entire last stretch home was entirely hill. and then a long drive way. and then stairs to climb with heavy leaden bike. i wanted to call a little bubble cab to rescue me. :*) i made it home, collapsed, nibbled dinner, looking out my fishbowl to a bounty of tree's thinking (warning pollyannic moment about to drop) about how grateful i am.
more later gaters. betchya wonder about more personal deets right - enough about the bike already, yeah? like get to the love slash sex life. am i really catapulting towards the ladies lips? naaa. i love the y chromes too much. but i so do like to get my macho on. why on earth is that? soon to explore these questions and more of the love-sex-bike-boxing variety.
