Thursday was rather aggressive. Knowing that I was getting up at 11am naturally these days, it arranged to rouse me at 7am.
I had an appointment to take my car into the dealership to get its brakes fixed. The woman there said it would take until the end of the day and asked if I needed a ride anywhere. "No, thanks," I said. I thought, "I don't need no steekin' automobile anyway. I got two legs, as Terry Gilliam said."
I brought my black bag, which slings over my shoulder and which was a, oh, for these purposes, let's call a purse. I also had the brilliant idea to bring my leather jacket, even though the morning chill shortly thereafter disintegrated like a polar bear in lava. And guess what? I'd run out of deodorant the day before. I only mention it because the exact same thing happened to me last time. The last time I had to take my car into the dealership and then walk for long periods under the blood engorged breasts of our affectionate sun. Both times I said to myself, "I'll just buy some in the morning before I go to the dealership." And of course, both times I didn't have time.
So I walked to a Starbucks a few blocks away, purse flopping on my hip under my heavy black leather jacket. And yet, somehow, by the time I reached the coffee place, I had managed to not sweat even one drop. Mind over matter, I suppose.
I sat there for about two hours reading Caitlin R. Kiernan's The Five of Cups. It's a good book. I read about Gin the Vampire's shenanigans with an interesting priest, an angel, and a bird.
I finally decided to move on to elsewhere in La Mesa. I walked down a fairly steep overpass to the very busy intersection of Baltimore and Fletcher Parkway. As I was standing there, waiting for the light to change, I looked down and noticed a small brown bird, standing in the street, about a foot from the curb. She just stood there, tranquilly watching the car wheels passing inches from her face.
When the light changed, I put my hand under her. She slowly put one foot on my fingers and then the other. I looked closely at her as I walked quickly across the street. She didn't seem to be injured in any way--no blood, no oddly angled body parts. She didn't look sick. She fluttered her wings a couple times but didn't try to fly away. Her beak opened and closed as she looked at me.
On the other side of the street were a couple of middle-aged hippies. "Is it okay?" asked the woman.
"I don't know," I said. "It doesn't look like there's anything wrong with her."
"Maybe it's a baby," said the woman. At that moment, the bird flew away.
"It's a good omen, man," said the male hippie.
"I hope so," I replied.
"It's beautiful . . . God bless you!"
I kind of awkwardly waved to him as I walked away. Of course I thought about the bird all the way to Grossmont Centre mall. I went from wondering if I'd given her the wrong impression of humans, if she was going to fly into some redneck's backyard and get shot. I wondered if she had bird flu, and if I had bird flu all over my hand. Maybe she'd been someone's pet, but she wasn't the sort of bird one normally sees kept as a pet. She looked exactly like all the other little brown birds one sees in the area.
Anyway, I reached the mall, bought a small coffee, put my jacket and bag on a chair, sat tiredly down in another, laid my phone and book on the table, opened the book--and immediately received a call from the woman at the dealership, telling me my car was ready. It was 11am. Apparently "the end of the day" means different things to different people.
So to-day I do the first page of the new Boschen and Nesuko chapter. I'm happy I managed to completely finish the script on Wednesday, and I managed to have enough energy to work on the storyboards last night.
I shall now have at it . . .