things and stuff

One of the nice things about the drive to and from campus is that I can get WRNR (103.1) nearly the entire way. Yesterday evening, the long familiar voice of Bob Waugh was in my ear, and then they played the Violent Femmes' "Kiss Off". It could have been 1989. It almost was.

In moments like those, the veil between memory and future seems achingly translucent.

...

On the way in to school yesterday, I was mostly just cruising along- the opening bars to something prompted me to glance down and turn the volume up. When I looked up, I was staring down the barrel of a radar gun. I looked over at the speed limit sign. 25.

Fuck.

The cop strode out into the street, and pointed at the side of the road. Now, pretty much as soon as my glance registered someone on the side of the road, I'd already hit the brakes. The car next to me was still sailing on a good clip faster, and was a bit ahead. But from the broad gestures it was really impossible to tell which of us he wanted to pull over- my money was on both. I sighed, and put my signal on, and moved over behind the other car. I wasn't about to pull the "I thought you meant the other guy!" routine, which it seemed the car in front of me was thinking about. I just slowed down and waited for him to tell us where to go. He directed the car in front onto a side street. He then looked at me, paused a second, and just made a "eh, continue" wave with his hand.

Clearly I've just wiped my luck account clean of discretionary funds for a while. Though I am amused that his algorithm seemed to be to pull over the person who tried to avoid it the longest. I have no doubt that if I'd stayed in the left lane he would have strode right out in front of me and let the other person go.

running the gamut

I was in the bank this morning running an errand. One of the staff members was wearing a stunningly attractive suit- it had a deep bordeaux hue, a fitted jacket, a slightly flared skirt that went to just past the knee. Against her latte skin, it just glowed. When she walked past me a second time as I was waiting in line, I leaned over and said "Excuse me- I just wanted to say that your suit is really lovely." "Oh!" she said. "Thank you!"

On one's way out of the branch, one must walk by a line of desks. The man at the first desk was on the phone, but gave me a long assessement starting at my ankles and finishing with a slow smile. The woman was next, and gave me a look tinged with a bit of self-awareness as she wished me a good day. At the third desk was the eager young man who had tried to help me on my way in. I felt almost as if I walking a bizarre receiving line, saying "have a nice day", "thank you", et cetera.

...

More updates from my operatic past. The social worker still couldn't find my records, but she did find the record for my (adoptive) parents. The details that were recorded there just make things even more murky. Some time in '76 or '77, the courts denied the private adoption that had been arranged for me. It seems that the woman who had care of me had divorced her third husband and acquired a fourth, and that was unacceptable. In June of '77, a report was made that I was in an unfit home, and the case was referred to the State. It took until September of '77 for the state to find me. When I finally was found, I was taken out of the home I'd lived in for two and a half years and placed in an orphanage in Florida until a social worker could fly down and retrieve me, which they did a few days later. I was taken to Hopkins for assessment, where there were no signs of abuse or neglect, but apparently I *had* been bitten by a dog. And then I ended up at the orphanage in Baltimore. My parents, when they took me in, were told that there were places near Baltimore that they shouldn't take me, as the orginal family was very upset and might possibly try to kidnap me back!