It hurts us, precious.
To everyone who is currently wishing me ill: today you won.
I flew home from Nashville today. Normally I sweet talk a friend into picking me up from the airport, because what are friends for if not to exploit? (fact: you can exploit me for a ride to/from the airport any time I'm not at work), but this time I left my car at Lary's because they live much closer to the airport than I do, and they love me, and were willing to let me spend the night and then drive me and the wee ones to the airport at o'dark thirty.
Side story: the sky was barely starting to lighten when we left their house, so Sherman said we were racing the sun to Nashville. The sun was up by the time we got through security, so as we were walking to our gate, I pointed it out to him and he said, "Oh no! We lost!" That boy is too cute for his own good.
Anywho, point being, I left my car at Lary's. I've done this before, and they kindly picked me up from the airport, but this time they went on a family campout, leaving me to my own devices. Now while I don't mind asking someone from Provo to pick me up and take me back to Provo, I'm less inclined to ask them to pick me up and drive me to Sandy, just to drive back to Provo alone while I drive my own car. This meant I had to find alternate means of getting home.
My idea: I'll get an Uber! I heard they aren't all that expensive, so it sounded like a great idea to me. Nate's idea: take Trax! There's a stop not too far from their house. Pshhh, thunked I, because who uses public transportation in America?
Then I looked at how much an Uber cost: over thirty bucks. Thank you but I can buy a tank of gas and drive to/from the airport myself at least three times for that much. Trax? Only cost $2.50. Public transportation it was!
Taking the green line out of the airport was fairly painless, though there was a questionably homeless guy who pointed to a mess on the floor and told me he'd puked all over. Thank goodness there was more than one car I could sit in.
My first problem arrived when I transferred lines. As I was waiting on the platform, some dude approached me and asked if there was any work he could do for me. There wasn't, so he asked if I had cash to spare. I told him I don't carry cash (does anyone under the age of 45?), so he struck up a conversation. I learned things I did not care to learn:
That prayer, at least, was answered, and although there were plenty of other colorful characters on the train (I am never again using public transportation after dark), no one else talked to me.
I finally made it to my designated Trax station; it was now 10:00pm (I arrived at the airport at 8:10). I pulled up my big girl pants and started hiking up the road to Nate and Lary's.
Backstory: last April I busted my medial meniscus doing Zumba, and it took months and months and months to heal (fine, it only took like three and a half months, but that felt like forever). I was super stoked when it finally got better, because that meant I could wear heels again, which I've worn about three times since then. Then last week I was at Matthew's holding Sherman, and because I'm the fun auntie, I galloped with him through the kitchen.
Bet you can guess where this is going.
So I've reinjured my knee, though nowhere near as bad as the initial injury. Still, I had to make an emergency trip to walmart to buy me a knee brace which I've been wearing ever since.
Back to this hill: I started hiking it, and quickly realized it was more than "the few blocks" my silly little brain imagined it was. It took me fifteen minutes of a grueling uphill battle (slight exaggeration, but only slight) to get where I was going, and the last several minutes were extremely steep. It was along about here somewhere that my knee reminded me mightily that it was injured, and suddenly I was limping along, praying fervently that 1) I wouldn't be murdered as it was after dark and 2) I would make it in one piece, because ow, ow, ow my knee hurt.
Happy ending: I made it! But then I had to drive home. And then I have to navigate the stairs in my house (ouch ouch ouch). And now I'm lying in bed, wondering if I can justify skipping church tomorrow (I won't) because walking hurts now.
To add insult to injury, I, who thought I was emotionally stable and fine with leaving Ruby and Sherman back in Nashville, got a bit teary eyed seeing all the reminders about my house that they'd been here. But that's a story for another entry.
So again, to those wishing me ill: today you won. But tomorrow is a new day, and besides going to church, I plan to spend the entire day in bed, where I will recuperate and do good things like read and write.
Right now, I just need to convince myself to hobble into the bathroom and get ready for bed.
(Ow, ow, ow.)
I flew home from Nashville today. Normally I sweet talk a friend into picking me up from the airport, because what are friends for if not to exploit? (fact: you can exploit me for a ride to/from the airport any time I'm not at work), but this time I left my car at Lary's because they live much closer to the airport than I do, and they love me, and were willing to let me spend the night and then drive me and the wee ones to the airport at o'dark thirty.
Side story: the sky was barely starting to lighten when we left their house, so Sherman said we were racing the sun to Nashville. The sun was up by the time we got through security, so as we were walking to our gate, I pointed it out to him and he said, "Oh no! We lost!" That boy is too cute for his own good.
Anywho, point being, I left my car at Lary's. I've done this before, and they kindly picked me up from the airport, but this time they went on a family campout, leaving me to my own devices. Now while I don't mind asking someone from Provo to pick me up and take me back to Provo, I'm less inclined to ask them to pick me up and drive me to Sandy, just to drive back to Provo alone while I drive my own car. This meant I had to find alternate means of getting home.
My idea: I'll get an Uber! I heard they aren't all that expensive, so it sounded like a great idea to me. Nate's idea: take Trax! There's a stop not too far from their house. Pshhh, thunked I, because who uses public transportation in America?
Then I looked at how much an Uber cost: over thirty bucks. Thank you but I can buy a tank of gas and drive to/from the airport myself at least three times for that much. Trax? Only cost $2.50. Public transportation it was!
Taking the green line out of the airport was fairly painless, though there was a questionably homeless guy who pointed to a mess on the floor and told me he'd puked all over. Thank goodness there was more than one car I could sit in.
My first problem arrived when I transferred lines. As I was waiting on the platform, some dude approached me and asked if there was any work he could do for me. There wasn't, so he asked if I had cash to spare. I told him I don't carry cash (does anyone under the age of 45?), so he struck up a conversation. I learned things I did not care to learn:
- he noticed I had freckles
- but he wasn't hitting on me because he was in love
- he called her sexy frecksy
- or sexy freckle-saurus
- and told her not to cover her freckles with makeup
- but they were having sex, she wasn't his wife
- he's getting baptized next month, and I wondered if the sisters know about the girlfriend
- he's a reformed druggie
- as of four months ago
- a mixture of heroin and cocaine is his drug of choice. It's good stuff.
- But I shouldn't get into alcohol because it's bad for me
That prayer, at least, was answered, and although there were plenty of other colorful characters on the train (I am never again using public transportation after dark), no one else talked to me.
I finally made it to my designated Trax station; it was now 10:00pm (I arrived at the airport at 8:10). I pulled up my big girl pants and started hiking up the road to Nate and Lary's.
Backstory: last April I busted my medial meniscus doing Zumba, and it took months and months and months to heal (fine, it only took like three and a half months, but that felt like forever). I was super stoked when it finally got better, because that meant I could wear heels again, which I've worn about three times since then. Then last week I was at Matthew's holding Sherman, and because I'm the fun auntie, I galloped with him through the kitchen.
Bet you can guess where this is going.
So I've reinjured my knee, though nowhere near as bad as the initial injury. Still, I had to make an emergency trip to walmart to buy me a knee brace which I've been wearing ever since.
Back to this hill: I started hiking it, and quickly realized it was more than "the few blocks" my silly little brain imagined it was. It took me fifteen minutes of a grueling uphill battle (slight exaggeration, but only slight) to get where I was going, and the last several minutes were extremely steep. It was along about here somewhere that my knee reminded me mightily that it was injured, and suddenly I was limping along, praying fervently that 1) I wouldn't be murdered as it was after dark and 2) I would make it in one piece, because ow, ow, ow my knee hurt.
Happy ending: I made it! But then I had to drive home. And then I have to navigate the stairs in my house (ouch ouch ouch). And now I'm lying in bed, wondering if I can justify skipping church tomorrow (I won't) because walking hurts now.
To add insult to injury, I, who thought I was emotionally stable and fine with leaving Ruby and Sherman back in Nashville, got a bit teary eyed seeing all the reminders about my house that they'd been here. But that's a story for another entry.
So again, to those wishing me ill: today you won. But tomorrow is a new day, and besides going to church, I plan to spend the entire day in bed, where I will recuperate and do good things like read and write.
Right now, I just need to convince myself to hobble into the bathroom and get ready for bed.
(Ow, ow, ow.)