Thunder and lightning, very very frightening...pug!

It's stormy weather above our place; really and truly right above us. Hearing strong winds, I panicked and ran out onto our porch to prune the gorgeous yellow rose standard beside our steps. The other one blew over while we were away one weekend and I didn't want to lose this one too. Got absolutely soaked and decided to abandon my frenzied pruning efforts when I realised I was directly below some massive (daylight quality) flashes of lightning holding metal pruning shears. Hm. Yes, they have handles, but is that something I really feel like testing tonight? No. 


Hilariously, the same pug which was skittering across the floorboards barking in a panicky fashion not ten minutes ago has now passed out in her bed, sweetly oblivious to the world and subsequent rumblings of thunder in the heavens above. The rain is pattering on our roof but there are warnings of hail up to 2cm in diameter; no doubt there'll be human interest stories of families with their roofs blown off and clutching golf-sized hail preserved in the freezer for our intrepid reporters over at the HeraldSun.

Dammit. Spoke too soon. She's squeaking again.
Hubs is lecturing me just a little on the pool of cards we saw in tonight's Magic draft. Then apologising for speaking so much while I'm attempting to type coherent sentences. Then pointing out that he had in fact done said apologising. Ok, it's a mobius loop, enough already.

I now have three sore toes.
I carved a chunk out of my right foot's second toe when I put a large plastic tub on - well, I thought it was the floor. It wasn't. So my left biggie is sore, by right biggie is throbbing, and I may die from the blood loss incurred from my second toe. That I probably won't is an irrelevance and shall not be mentioned in the interests of garnering sympathy. And it's ridiculously humid.

Hm. Is there anything else I can currently think of to complain about? Oh yeah, it's Halloween tomorrow. Which, in Australia, doesn't mean a great deal. When all your friends are arty people it means a little more. I suspect dressing up may be in the air. This is totally my own fault for bemoaning the lack of frocking up in my life. Universe, if you are listening, this is not what I meant.

Get your roller derby on!

I am SO incredibly in touch with my inner child. So much that there may not exist an outer adult.

Ten thirty: roller skating rink
Twelve thirty: hot dog break
Three thirty: leave to get haircut.

Yes, I'm a speed freak. Not the stuff you brew up in a spoon with a lighter, but the whoosh-whoosh kind. Roller blades are my kind of thing. They're even better when you can stunt just enough to look decent. It only took three hundred laps for me to remember that I know another way to go around corners (crossing one foot over the other)!

The excitingness of clever, speedy cornering kept me entertained for a few more laps, UNTIL I remembered that I can crisscross my feet while traversing the straight, right over left...ooh, AND left over right (though I think my pelvis is retwisting and I should probably start sucking up to my osteopath for a remedial massage or fifty).

Oh! The joy of turning and then skating backwards (continuing in the same direction) cannot be underestimated. And the funky move where you crouch, one leg extended in front, and just navigate with your rearmost wheel. If you understand that at all from my description, you're psychic!
(Dear hubs, we TOTALLY have to find another abandoned carpark and get our skate on.)

Substitute hubs and I gained a little fan club begging us to teach backward skating and the funky heel manouvre, which was sweet.
I'm only missing two patches of skin (wheeee! Wristguards are the best when you plant and skid on them!): one elbow and most of my right hip (tights+friction= holey tights & missing skin). Ow.

At least I earned my battle scars in a fairly spectacular wipeout speed skating. Tripping and splattering to avoid a kid twisted my right shoulder quite nicely. I should have hit them. Hey, kids BOUNCE! I went splat, sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide CLUNK.

And then got up very quickly, because when you spring enthusiastically to your treacherously wheeled feet, IT DOESN'T HURT. Yeh. Uh-huh. Whoever thought THAT was a liar.

Total activity today: rollerskating approx 4 hours, dashing to bookshop and haircutter, swing class 1.5 hours, Matt Rooney gig about 2 hours.
If I don't sleep for more than four hours tonight (this morning) someone is going to die. Possibly me. OOh, and I have one more injury to add to the list (acquired while dancing): one very gory big toe. I guess I flicked the nail back quite a long way against the sole of someone's shoe. It's throbbing gently now. Throb. Throb. Throb. Throb. I think it's time to sleep. Who wants another piece of poetry tomorrow? (Well, it's that or my inane, sleep-deprived rambling... although I suppose I could post both.)