Freedom

On Monday morning I got my cast off.

Right afterwards, I shaved my right leg and flew to LA. I love the funky North Hollywood hotel where I stay. Its café (Café 101) has stellar french fries. Speaking of stellar, the establishment is reputed to be frequented by stars but I’ve never seen any. Just people who dress like them.

I came home after the Pacifica Radio Archives fund drive the next night. [I’d been managing the Web site. See if you can find me.] It went well. I donated $100. Did you?

My work week concluded with a swell of interpersonal strife that I neither understand nor need. For a change I decided to take the weekend off. I mowed the lawn and visited M at Dickens Fair. Look at her friends modeling in the window of the corset shop, Dark Garden. Aren’t they just pure perfection?

I tried on a corset myself and was elated to realize I’m a 2-inch size smaller than last year. I can cinch down to a 24-inch waist without turning blue.

As in past years, I was compelled to get out on the dance floor. Literally compelled; M is relentless. I waltzed and polka’d with strangers and M’s friends for quite a while, frustrated at how quickly my legs tired until I remembered I’m four days out of a five-week cast. I added an item to my list of lifetime ambitions: learn to spin endlessly without puking. Here’s M and a friend, both of whom are good at that. He had a Christmas-caroling voice so deep it rattled my eardrums.

I wish I hadn’t eaten all those chips and cookies and chocolate when I got home.