'Ff'lo (fflo) wrote,
'Ff'lo
fflo

The goddesses don't want me to mow, maybe.

I hadn't gotten more than 100 feet this unhumid evening when a rock shot out from under ol' John Deere, bam, hard into my ankle.  Ripped my bell bottoms.  Ankle & foot started swelling immediately.  It was bad enough not only that I knew right away I was done mowing but that I actually called the neighbor to come retrieve the mower rather than limping it over to his place.  Like I'm gonna borrow your mower and you have to come pick it up.  Once I peeled off the sock and cleaned the point of impact, and got the dog out on the long leash briefly, icing and elevation have helped, and the big red splotch in the middle of the bruising is smaller than it was, but I wish to complain nonetheless:  Ouch.  That hurts.  And rats, I was actually looking forward to a shorter yard.  Plus I was just this afternoon especially enjoying the walking of walking, around downtown, zapping imaginary things with my phone, setting up resonators, you know, typical townie stuff on the first move-in chaos day.

Cuz yes, they're back.  Or they're starting to be back.  With their beer in cups and their cluelessness about 4-way stops.  With their parents carrying their expensive televisions.  With their privilege looking like it must have really saturated them cuz they seem to be dripping with it.

Bert says the student body trends toward more and more out-of-staters, by the U's design.  Out-of-state tuition this year is $41,906, or $44,848 for upperclasspeople.  I mean, for one year.  TUITION AND FEES.   More than $70K for non-nationals.  The U tells folks they'll spend about 10K on housing and another thousand on books, plus a few thou on personal expenses and miscellaneous.

Rather than think about what kind of education I might have cobbled together if I were 30 years younger, I need to put my foot back up.

I caught up on Masters of Sex tonight.  Since the sad and touching thing happened last time, we spurted ahead 5 months and then another year.  I haven't been feeling real sympathetic for Bill lately, but tonight he had me, in some of what he uttered in pain, even if it came out as barely controlled fury.

I'm going to eat a painkiller tonight as much to get sleep (knock knock on some wood] (this keyboard with the broken zero & closing paren is really starting to bug me] (all the zeros above were pasted in] (I hope you can live with the asymmetry of my parenthesizing here] as to take the edge off the throbbing ankle.  I did get almost 5 hours of sleep last night, and that was good, but still not really enough.  Not enough to catch up.

When I was talking today about a little word joke, and got the little laugh at it from my witness, she said, "You miss that, don't you," and poof, there were the tears, in my eyes instantly, outta nowhere, half a nanosecond, and I knew how close the pain and that old joy are.  They're right next to each other.  They're too close.  You can't touch one without touching the other.
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