Friday, October 22, 2004

Friday, October 22, 2004
Waxing Moon
Neptune Retrograde
Uranus Retrograde
Cloudy and cool

I was in a car accident this morning. I went grocery shopping. As I prepared to start the car to pull out, the person in the space behind me rocketed back and rear-ended me. The bumpers hit, so the car barely has a scratch. The guy said, “That’s what bumpers are for,” waved and drove off before I could get his license.

I had to go to the doctor. Because I was twisted to put my purse in the back and get on my seatbelt on at impact, my back, neck and shoulders are screwed up. I’m in a good bit of pain.

I can’t back out of tomorrow’s matinee at RENT, but I think I’ll have to call WICKED and tell them I can’t do shows next week. Day work shouldn’t be a problem, because I can be slow and carry one shirt at a time if I need to, but I can’t do the movement required in a show.

I’m going to work with a sports trainer next week to fix the problems. He told me I’m gonna hate his guts by the end of it, but I’ll be back in shape in a week, which is better than if I just followed doctor’s orders and did nothing.

I wrote an article on the Breeders’ Cup for Femmefan, revised issue 105 of Widow’s Chamber and wrote most of 106. That’s all I could do.

I stopped early to cook comfort food – a big pot of ratatouille (I love the recipe from The Moosewood Cookbook), mashed potatoes and rosemary chicken with parsnips.

And I made an unhappy discovery.

A few weeks ago, when a friend was visiting, she knocked over a glass that had a rooting plant. She said not to worry, she’d clean it up and, since she’s a friend and I trust her, I never thought another thing of it.

Today, I reach for a cookbook from that shelf and found it was growing mold. I’ve lost an entire shelf of out-of-print, first-edition cookbooks, including Elizabeth David’s French Provincial Cooking and Martha Rose Shulman’s Supper Club Chez Martha Rose. I’m devastated, both because these cookbooks were picked up on my travels and each one has a personal meaning and story attached, and because my so-called friend lied. It would have taken five minutes to clean up the spill. And I’m mad at myself for trusting my friend and not double-checking. But aren’t you supposed to be able to trust your friends? Especially for something as simple as wiping up a spill with a paper towel?

Maybe it wouldn’t hit me so hard if I wasn’t in pain from the accident. But right now, I have very little faith in the human race. And just the thought of having an election in a little over a week is enough to send me over the edge.



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