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Have I ever told you guys how much I absolutely adore my rain boots?  Oh, wait, I have… except the boots I’m loving right now aren’t the same boots I posted about before.  Those boots are currently adorning Indy’s feet as she tromps around Yellow Springs.  My current pair of rain boots is a bright, rubber-ducky-yellow pair I found in a thrift store in Columbus.  They are utterly marvelous because they enable me to walk right through the rain puddles.  So much fun.

We have some good news, of a sort.  Remember that spot on one of my roomate’s ribs that was going to have to be checked out?  Biopsies aren’t fun, and a bone biopsy is double not fun, so she was rather dreading this.  Plus it was just, well, one more thing to go through.  Yesterday she went in for an MRI, but the technician, a guy who hadn’t looked at her films before, told her that he didn’t think she needed the MRI.  He had looked at the scans, and thought that the spot looked just like a healing fracture, not a metastis at all.  He showed my roommate where the spot was on her back, and something clicked in her brain.  See, back when she first got diagnosed, she had a particularly bad bout of vomiting, in which she thought she had pulled a muscle.  Her back was sore, and she couldn’t lie on that side.  After about two weeks it had gotten better, which is about how long it takes for rib fractures to start feeling better.  So they think that she didn’t pull a muscle, she cracked her rib, and that’s what showed up on the scans.  Now it might not sound like good news to know that my roommate vomited that hard, but compared to bone cancer, a cracked rib is almost… normal. It’s healing, and coming along fine, and now my roommate doesn’t have to dread the bone biopsy.  They’ll have to check it again in a month or so to make sure it’s healing as it should, but otherwise we don’t have to think about this anymore.  And that’s nice.

My week has had some nice things in it.  It didn’t start that way.  I was so tired after my trip, and then when I went out to my car (which I hadn’t driven since last Wednesday) to go to work Monday afternoon my front passenger tire was completely flat.  Pancake flat.  It was bad.  My roommate gave me a ride to work, but I knew that fixing it would be a chore.  See, my spare tire was flat.  I had known it was flat for some time, but I just hadn’t gotten my butt to the dealer to get it fixed.  I needed to do that before I could even get my car to the tire place, and there was no time in my schedule to do any of it.  I figured I would be able to borrow Johnsy’s car, no problem, but when I tried to call her, first I couldn’t get through, and then I found out that her roommate was borrowing it.  Of the next two friends I called, the first didn’t answer his phone, and the second could help me as long as it was the next day after 4pm.  Meanwhile, my phone battery was about to die because I left my cell phone charger in Indiana.  Things were getting worse and worse, and I ended up having a bit of an emotional meltdown.

That’s when things started to turn around.  (Why is always when you’re sitting with a red nose and a fistful of damp tissues that things start to get better?)  Monsieur Applesauce came to swing, which was lovely, just like old times.  My Mom lent me her car as long as I needed it, and my friend La Comtessa came to my house, picked up my spare tire, took it to the tire place, got it fixed, and then dropped it back off on my porch so I was able to make all my classes.  Prof. X agreed to let me put off my historical outline of Paul Ricoeur to next week, and on Wednesday morning 14 showed up at my door with hot coffee, and proceeded to change my tire for me.  He was awesome.  We run into a little difficulty when the flat tire didn’t want to come off the car even after we’d taken off all the fastenings, but some WD-40, and enthusiastic kicking by both 14 and Hot Josh took care of that.  It reminded me so much of the last time the two of them came to my rescue.  After that we all went out to breakfast.  It was wonderful.

And then, just to round things out, today I picked up some poems from my poetry Prof.  In class on Tuesday one of the other students had critiqued my work by saying that it was good, but when was I going to write about something other than relationships?  I laughed, and thought about the poem on metaphysics that was still in my bookbag because I was pretty sure my fellow students wouldn’t understand it.  But it’s true – most of my poems are about relationships, usually male/female, and dancing, which is male/female too since I mostly dance with guys.  When I picked up my poems, I mentioned this to my Prof, who basically told me not to mind her, that I am at a much further place with my poetry, having a well defined voice and subject matter, things which that particular student is still struggling to find.  That felt good.  I’ll still lay the metaphysics poem on her, just to watch her squirm, but it’s good.  This is what I write because this is who I am.  Deal.  And in honor of my professor’s kindness, here is one of my more informal poems:

Swing Dance: When Ella Sings the Blues

The voice pours out, sweet cream,
Suddenly we flood the floor,
Beat passing hand to hand
Faster than the common cold.
He says nothing, but I come to him.
He pulls me close, and then
Slings me into the dance.
Laughing, I spin and spiral back into his arms.
Do electrons feel this dizzy joy
Orbiting their nucleus home?