Here’s a snapshot of my life for you: I woke up in a tent around 8 a.m. There might have been bugs crawling all over me, not sure. You know how sometimes the skin just tingles? It wasn’t unpleasant. I wanted to get to a coffee house first thing in the morning to tell my editor about all the neurotic, last minute changes I wanted to make to my essay before it moved to the printer.
I took the long way to City Brew for some reason, and it was a fateful mistake. I turned over the two items in my head: “2 cats not 3. Cut out the part that makes me sound like a hooker. 2 cats not 3, cut out the hooking…” and then there are flashing lights behind me. If you’ve never been pulled over by a cop on a bicycle at 9 in the morning, let me be the first to tell you through earth-shattering prose what that’s like: It’s real weird!
He was all, “You ran a stop sign.” and I was like “I’VE GOT A LOT ON MY MIND RIGHT NOW, OFFICER.” He doesn’t care, and anyway, I didn’t actually say that. He wanted to see my ID. It took me a few minutes to find my passport in my backpack. “I may or may not have my passport with me…” I said, but then I found it.
“Do you have a driver’s licence in Michigan or Montana?”
He wrote me a ticket. I had to just stand there on my bike for 10 minutes without coffee while he wrote me out a ticket. He came back to ask what my home address was, and I was all, “52 Tent Street Avenue, Apartment #I live in a stranger’s backyard, Missoula, MT.” What I actually said was “I’m in between homes.” I gave him my PO Box. He handed me the ticket and I started crying. Tactical error. You’ve got to cry before he does all the paperwork.
Anyway. I hope he feels really bad about himself. My boss changed the number of cats but wouldn’t budge on the line that I worry makes it seem like I’m a hooker.
This place about to blow. I don’t know. I’m sick of thinking about it. I’m busy. I’m really, really busy this summer. You know what they say: Get busy living, or get busy blogging.
No one has ever said that.