The boys have gone to their baseball game/practice, and it was my sister's turn to take them. So that leaves me with plenty of time on my own to writ . . . zzzzzz.
Yeah, I'm super sleepy now. I took the boys out for lunch today, went to the lake for an hour (or less) before the sun went down, and got my second haircut for the year. Honestly, I knew I was way overdue for a haircut weeks ago, but I kept not getting it done because I liked the way it felt and occasionally, the way it looked.
I ran over to the park while I was waiting for my haircut and jotted down a few paragraphs on my story. It's not enough, of course, but I did what I could, inching ever closer to the end.
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| Before |
I've mentioned before that the Mexican lady at the salon at the bottom of the hill where I normally get my hair cut had to close her salon during the COVID-19 outbreak, and I've been growing my hair out ever since (she cut my hair in February, and that was all she wrote). I knew I needed to get it cut, but I liked having it long--I no longer had to put sunscreen on my ears or neck--and I knew it would piss off my father.
Anyhow, it occurred to me the last time I was at the cabin that I had her business card, and maybe she was still cutting hair somewhere else, and the number would still be good. Of course, there was no way to call it up in the mountains* so I promptly forgot about it. But I called her number, got a machine, and as I was leaving a message, got an incoming call which turned out to be her. Yes, she still cuts hair, but her new location was in a word I didn't know, number four something.
Well, I've mentioned before (often?) that I used to speak fluent Spanish, and it bugs the life out of me that I don't anymore, and am always wanting to improve my skills, so I was determined to figure out where the lady's new salon was. I tried to ask if she could text me the address, but wouldn't you know, I don't know how to say "send me a text" either. Somehow, she understood my meaning, and sent the address, which turned out to be only two minutes or so from the park with the stairs I've been going to to write, occasionally exercise, and just as occasionally not be able to get to the bathroom in time.**
I left the park, driving to what turned out to be a trailer park with three minutes to spare . . . and then I couldn't find number four. This trailer park, pardon my snobbishness for a moment, was so rundown and sketchy that I actually started getting scared walking around it, looking for number four. There were barking dogs, half-naked children playing in the dirt, broken-down cars in various state of disrepair, and a couple of Iggy Pop-skinny folks sitting outside glaring at me as I tried to find the right number. I found trailer one, five, and three, but no four.
A couple minutes later, my phone rang again, and the lady--whose name is Eva, it turns out--called me, asking me something I couldn't understand in her language. I told her I didn't know where number four was, but I was by number three. And she said she'd come out and find me.
Turns out, number four has no house number on it, because nobody actually lives there. Eva bought it when her salon closed down and turned it into a haircutting place, which she says has been open since May. Because I didn't show up in time, another guy took my place, and as soon as I sat down, a third guy came in for a haircut, so she's really doing good business.
I asked her if she wanted me to wear a mask, but she said she didn't care.*** The trailer was very hot and unpleasant, despite Eva having two electric fans blowing, but I waited patiently until it was my turn. When she cut my hair, her friend came over, and the two of them jabbered back in forth, and I tried hard to follow the conversation, but I have to admit that every time she addressed me instead of her friend, I had no idea it was me she was talking to. I'm really going to have to study up if I ever made good on my goal of going to Mexico and visiting every single brothel in Sorona.
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| After |
Anyway, it was nice to hear the lady refer to putting a little "hell" in my hair. Been too long.
Right now, it's only 11:04pm and I can barely keep my head up. It feels like a watermelon has been attached to my neck.
I forced myself to get up and go do some sit-ups, but I'll be honest, when I first laid back on the floor, I thought about just going to sleep and leave my count at zero.
Still, I fought my way through it, and grabbed my shoes and went out and did my run. And it was hard--harder than it usually is--and I was tempted to turn and quit after only a block or so. But I guess that's when it really matters, when you don't want to do it, and even though I'm fatter today than I was a month ago (despite all the sit-ups, amazingly), the fact that the exercise is part of my dail--nightly routine has to be good, no?
Sit-ups Today: 111
Sit-ups In August: 2426
After that, though, I didn't have much more to give. I briefly considered opening my editing program and trying to get a few minutes of editing done, but even that was beyond me. So I watched a YouTube video, farted, and was done for the day.
Words Today: 717
Words In August: 11,597
*My mom told me that there is a telephone at the gatekeepers cabin right as you get to the lake that you can use at any time, for emergencies or otherwise, and I should have/could have used that to call her to tell her I couldn't find her checkbook last week. Probably I'll forget again the next time I'm up there (going to skip this week, just because), but it's possible I could send texts or even post on Facebook from there if I really need to.
**Sorry to be scatological (again), but it is like a curse--every time I go to that park, I have an urgent need come upon me to to go to the bathroom . . . like right now. It is so consistent that I have been thinking about writing a Lara & the Witch story where Lara curses one of the boys at her school "Every time you would normally grab a girl's butt, you will have the uncontrollable need to poop your pants." Then she could just stand back and see what happens. I guess the EC Comics ending would be that the student--Eric Choner, probably--starts wearing Depends adult diapers to school, and still fondles the buttocks of girls left and right. Lemonade out of lemons, apparently.
***Oh, I meant to mention this: I lost my mask on Tuesday night when I was out with my cousin. I don't know what happened to it--probably it was on my lap when I was in his (or my) car and it fell out when I got out, but I couldn't find it the next day, and I'm 99% certain I've lost it now. In these updated status quo times, losing your mask feels like losing your wallet or your car keys. I had a cheap disposable one I picked up a couple of weeks ago, and I've been wearing that, but the one my mom sewed for me back in March was made for my face, and anything else (I grabbed a black cloth one yesterday and have been trying to get used to it) has been hard to get used to. I'm like one of those Eighties slasher movie characters, I guess, and I feel naked without my William Shatner or hockey mask.
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