I'm in DC with my Da (and Dada: major retrospective at National Gallery) and wonder of wonders, he found two more bikes in the alley behind the house. No, he did not "find" them with boltcutters. Lucky Rebecca gets the beat-up white lightweight 4-speed Peugeot with the supercurved handlebars. It's a good little ride, and a very welcome addition to my current wheelless life, and a good turn done me by a recently unkind universe (see: stolen BB, no job, unhappy heart). Thanks, universe, and thanks Da for being attuned to the free-stuff wavelength, and thanks everyone who's tolerating and funding my penury. Really, mates, I don't know who's reading at this point but I offer you brimful gratitude. It's good to be cared for.
Saw an amazing concert on Saturday and I ought to write about that. Maybe Ross did. Then I got a beautiful phone call on Monday, though unfortunately was on the Chinatown bus and couldn't properly enjoy it due to the very space-invasive seatmate listening in on my every word. Brunched with Davey J yesterday, lunched with Sarah C today, coffee-ing with Sarah H tomorrow, dinnered with extended-fam-gaggle tonight and realized through all of this that really, life's down. There's not a lot of jolly left in me. What is there is a kind of tacky veneer of chipper fortitude: I'll be fine! All this is wearing thin.
I keep wondering whether I'm hitting bottom on this one, but I think there's probably a lot more down to go (in theory; in practice I seriously hope not) as evinced by such (fake) tales as A Million Tiny Pieces and all the J.T. Leroy rot. Hey, I've got a new bike! A proper job can only be so far behind.