Wednesday, June 20, 2001

Yesterday was definitely a weird one.

First thing in the morning I went to have some blood drawn at my doctor's office (more tests). The nurse taking the blood found a nice a vein and stuck in the needle, then we wait for the vial to fill. And wait. She looks down and says, "Well I'll be damned, there's nothing coming out." I'd stopped bleeding. She checks, it's in a big old vein, she slaps my forearm, I clench and unclench my fist a few times, and it starts again. Slowly. No problem with the needle stick, she did great. I've just run out of blood.

So, then it's lunch time, and Leslie meets me downtown at my "work." We head into one place, and we're standing looking at the menu. I feel a hand or two on my elbow, caressing it. I assume it's Leslie. I look down and see her hands both in front of her. I turn and the man who's been fondling me moves on into the restaurant.

A little freaked out by that, we head back out onto the street and start walking towards choice number two. That's when the drunk young woman comes towards me. She's heading down the sidewalk, out of control, her friends right behind trying to catch her. I sidestep to get out of her way. She follows and leaps into my chest and grabs my right breast with both of her hands and twists. I just to the side, and she continues her trajectory down the sidewalk.

Leslie and I changed plans at that point and cross the street and head around the corner to get off of that block. We sit down with our lunch at place number three. We begin to enjoy ourselves, and to laugh about the previous incidents. Then the dude from the first place walks by like he's looking for somebody. He didn't see me.

I managed to make it through the day, and in the evening we find ourselves out again. I'm having a little salad for my dinner: romaine lettuce with gorgonzola cheese and walnuts tossed in a light vinaigrette dressing. Very nice. I'm just about done with it when I feel a bit of walnut in my mouth that just won't chew. I figure it must be a bit of a shell, and I pull it out. Looking at it I as Leslie, "Walnut shells aren't supposed to be clear, are they?" No, this was a piece of glass. The waitress and the manager each apologized profusely (and picked up the tab) but I just calmly explained to them that it was simply the type of day I was having, and they weren't to blame.

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