Abolishit.
I woke up today, with some bounce in my step. I am finally feeling better, recovering from the cold and the evil reaction that my medications gave me.
I logged into CNN. I was watching video on a new documentary that came out (anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE documentaries) called Call + Response. It discusses 21st century slavery and slave trades, and the roll that music plays in all of that. It is a call to modern-day abolition. It's playing in select cities. Lucky me for living in Portland.
So I decided I was going to make a day of it. I would bike downtown, see the movie, go to Powells and get a new book or two. Have lunch somewhere down there while cracking open my new book. It's a part of getting up and out, of pushing myself to feel better.
I took a bath laced with essential oil. I braided my hair. I put on makeup. I put on my favorite shirt and favorite pair of pants. I put on a necklace. Rings. I pulled cash out for my budget for the day.
I went to say goodbye to Andy. He was still sleeping. He got up after that - he rode my bike to work yesterday due to a flat on the BMX, which he still had to fix. We went in the shed to tinker. I took his chain off of my bike and went to lower the seat. He went to repair the flat.
I broke the screw when trying to secure the seat back on. So there was my seat clamp, screw threaded through both sides, but busted in the middle. I couldn't drive it out. I couldn't pry it out. So I did the only logical thing I could think of. I drove my humble ass to the bike shop to inform them that I was retarded, and get a new clamp.
I was on empty with the gas tank, as I have been for the past ten or so miles I've driven. I decided to go to the nearest store, a chain bike shop that I don't like much at Mall 205. I poked my head in, and.. nope. Don't have the right size of clamp. Fuck. I have to gas up, push my plans to see the 5 pm show (as opposed to 3), and go to a different shop.
I drive to the repair shop on Belmont. Closed Mondays. God damnit. I weave through town trying to remember where the fuck Ankeny is, so I can find City Bikes. I am irritated trying to drive through Portland because biking is SO much easier. I keep having to turn off of Ankeny because of the road design, and circling back. So. Irritated. Better. Have. Stupid. Part.
Yes. Yes, here is the part, the clamp is used, here's a new bolt. Six bucks. Hooray! I can still get back in time to fix this and see the 5 pm show.
I return to find Andy still working on the BMX. He changed out the tube, but decided to address the brake problem (ie: there are no break pads) by swapping out the breaks altogether with the brakes from an old BMX of his. He is irritable because he has been unsuccessful in adjusting them in any way that doesn't cause them to rub. He tinkers, I fix my seat. I go inside to grab food, check movie times and ticket availability. I am ready to leave at 3:40 for my journey downtown. He is still fumbling with breaks and has to work soon. I realize what this means.
"Do you need my bike?"
"I'm trying not to."
If I didn't leave then, my chances of making the 5 pm show would be slim to none unless I tried driving, which I refuse to do downtown. That would mean I'd have to push my plans back to the 7 pm show. Which means, I no longer had much interest in going, because I freak out at the thought of locking my bike up downtown after dark, especially when I cannot afford a new one. Which means, I sighed and gave up my dreams for the day.
"Take my bike. Fix the breaks on the BMX tonight. I'll go tomorrow."
So I'm inside another day. But I need a perfect day. I will fight for a perfect day. And the perfect day involves biking in the fall air to downtown. Spending the afternoon watching a documentary. Looking for new books. Taking my time in the long trek home, maybe stopping by the park. Not circling the same few blocks downtown hopelessly trying to find parking (and then actually attempting to parallel park). Not wringing my wrists fretting about whether or not some douche is trying to cut my bike lock.
Then again, my legs are restless. It's a little hard to be sure. I guess there is a chance of a final push to get out, to see the seven show. I'm not sure if I'll compromise. Maybe I will. Downtown terrifies me, but it may be worth it. I don't know. I just know that these walls are making me crazy and I need something better before I lash out at everyone here.
Don't listen to me. I don't know what the fuck I am talking about.
I logged into CNN. I was watching video on a new documentary that came out (anyone who knows me knows that I LOVE documentaries) called Call + Response. It discusses 21st century slavery and slave trades, and the roll that music plays in all of that. It is a call to modern-day abolition. It's playing in select cities. Lucky me for living in Portland.
So I decided I was going to make a day of it. I would bike downtown, see the movie, go to Powells and get a new book or two. Have lunch somewhere down there while cracking open my new book. It's a part of getting up and out, of pushing myself to feel better.
I took a bath laced with essential oil. I braided my hair. I put on makeup. I put on my favorite shirt and favorite pair of pants. I put on a necklace. Rings. I pulled cash out for my budget for the day.
I went to say goodbye to Andy. He was still sleeping. He got up after that - he rode my bike to work yesterday due to a flat on the BMX, which he still had to fix. We went in the shed to tinker. I took his chain off of my bike and went to lower the seat. He went to repair the flat.
I broke the screw when trying to secure the seat back on. So there was my seat clamp, screw threaded through both sides, but busted in the middle. I couldn't drive it out. I couldn't pry it out. So I did the only logical thing I could think of. I drove my humble ass to the bike shop to inform them that I was retarded, and get a new clamp.
I was on empty with the gas tank, as I have been for the past ten or so miles I've driven. I decided to go to the nearest store, a chain bike shop that I don't like much at Mall 205. I poked my head in, and.. nope. Don't have the right size of clamp. Fuck. I have to gas up, push my plans to see the 5 pm show (as opposed to 3), and go to a different shop.
I drive to the repair shop on Belmont. Closed Mondays. God damnit. I weave through town trying to remember where the fuck Ankeny is, so I can find City Bikes. I am irritated trying to drive through Portland because biking is SO much easier. I keep having to turn off of Ankeny because of the road design, and circling back. So. Irritated. Better. Have. Stupid. Part.
Yes. Yes, here is the part, the clamp is used, here's a new bolt. Six bucks. Hooray! I can still get back in time to fix this and see the 5 pm show.
I return to find Andy still working on the BMX. He changed out the tube, but decided to address the brake problem (ie: there are no break pads) by swapping out the breaks altogether with the brakes from an old BMX of his. He is irritable because he has been unsuccessful in adjusting them in any way that doesn't cause them to rub. He tinkers, I fix my seat. I go inside to grab food, check movie times and ticket availability. I am ready to leave at 3:40 for my journey downtown. He is still fumbling with breaks and has to work soon. I realize what this means.
"Do you need my bike?"
"I'm trying not to."
If I didn't leave then, my chances of making the 5 pm show would be slim to none unless I tried driving, which I refuse to do downtown. That would mean I'd have to push my plans back to the 7 pm show. Which means, I no longer had much interest in going, because I freak out at the thought of locking my bike up downtown after dark, especially when I cannot afford a new one. Which means, I sighed and gave up my dreams for the day.
"Take my bike. Fix the breaks on the BMX tonight. I'll go tomorrow."
So I'm inside another day. But I need a perfect day. I will fight for a perfect day. And the perfect day involves biking in the fall air to downtown. Spending the afternoon watching a documentary. Looking for new books. Taking my time in the long trek home, maybe stopping by the park. Not circling the same few blocks downtown hopelessly trying to find parking (and then actually attempting to parallel park). Not wringing my wrists fretting about whether or not some douche is trying to cut my bike lock.
Then again, my legs are restless. It's a little hard to be sure. I guess there is a chance of a final push to get out, to see the seven show. I'm not sure if I'll compromise. Maybe I will. Downtown terrifies me, but it may be worth it. I don't know. I just know that these walls are making me crazy and I need something better before I lash out at everyone here.
Don't listen to me. I don't know what the fuck I am talking about.