16-Oct-2006

Some people from home (aka The Dauditor and Chlydia) seem concerned about my well-being.  Unfortunately, I can't talk about what happened to me last week on this here blog.  Not that I really want to.  It's not for sharing with people who can take me or leave me, as I imagine most of my readers can.  It's also not for those who don't have a flare for the melodramatic, as I do, and as you can probably tell from my cryptic tom-foolery.  So instead, let me just say that I am fine (in fact, better than fine, because something wonderful came from last week's misfortune), and, aside from a nagging propensity toward uber-sensitivity and a chronic case of jangled nerves, all is well.  That being said, if you're thinking of saying something mean or even just facetiously jabby at me right now, kindly refrain.  I will smile through it, but probably burst into tears once you're out of my line of sight. 

Patheticness aside, I really did have a lovely weekend.  After hiking with Cliffhanger on Saturday morning, the Designated Driver invited me to come ice skating with her and her charge.  Now, I don't mean to brag, but I kind of grew up on skates, skis, and horses, so my balance is decent.  My cousin and I used to play tag on various roller and ice rinks, which I'm sure upset parents everywhere and caused bodily injury to at least a hundred other children.  We also used to have other kids hold up broomsticks so we could jump them on our roller skates.  Where were our mothers?  As a result of this parental neglect, though, I'm good at skating.  I kicked ass at skating on Saturday, which is surprising, since I haven't been in about eight years.  It was all very mellowing. 

Speaking of mellow, this entry is so fucking boring I think I'm falling asleep.  If you must take something away from it, though, let it be this.  My self-worth is now determined by how good I am at ice skating.  Thank you.