Sorry about that. It had to be done. I will now go to the penalty box and feel shame for two minutes.
So I'd told my pagan friends that we could use my back yard, complete with labyrinth, for the solstice ritual on Saturday morning. My parents were to be gone early, and my mom had invited me to her weekend workshop when I was arranging the use of the yard, so I said I wasn't necessarily going to be there, but they could use the yard anyway. I decided against joining my mom, but neglected to set my alarm after getting home from Colcannon (who, by the way, will have a new album coming out around the New Year). So I woke up at 11am and realized that I was supposed to be 20 yards north 30 minutes ago. I dashed out there and arrived just before the meditation was starting. Even better timing than going from dorm to class. Had we done this at dawn, it wouldn't have been so bloody hot, but it was cool nonetheless. The combination of bright light and having just awakened caused my closed eyes to constantly flitter, sort of a waking REM. (Aside: I highly recommend the movie Waking Life.)
After cleaning up my room, I decided to bike to squee45's part rather than taking the bus, as biking would let me leave later and arrive (I thought, assuming 45 minutes for the trip) at about the same time. So then, biking down the Boulder Creek Path at top speed after a brief rain, I came upon three people walking abreast with a dog behind them -- I always give dogs and small children a wide berth, so I was heading into the oncoming lane to pass this posse when my wheels struck the yellow dividing tape, lost traction, and sent me right to the cement. It didn't hurt too much, about as much as standing abruptly and striking my knee on a wooden desk. After standing around for a couple minutes to get over the shock I remounted my bike and continued down the path. I then realized that the air passing my knee made it feel like it had been cut. Looking down I saw a pair of bloody scrapes. Fortunately, I was near a friend's house, so I stopped by to see what medical supplies they had. I washed out the knee wounds, noted that I also had a scrape on my shoulder (under my shirt) and under my sock. My hip also felt sore, since I landed on my wallet (front pocket). Five points of contact -- much better than it could have been. After applying disinfecting solutions to my knee, I applied a gauze bandage, as Heather guessed the bandaids were too small for the scrapes. Unfortunately, she had about half a foot of medical tape, which was enough to hold the gauze to my leg, but not to keep it on top of the wounds. Ah well. I'd cleaned it out and gotten another chance to rest, which is what I wanted. Heather suggested I stick some bandaids on the bandage in lieu of medical tape -- those lasted about 100 yards. So I continued down the path, my bandage flapping over my open wound, taking turns more carefully, and having lost top speed at the crash site. I managed to find the Centennial Trail, which took me to Baseline, which I then took all the way to Highway 42, a short way from my destination. I arrived something like an hour and a half after leaving my house, double my estimated 45 minutes, but I did make two somewhat lengthy diversions. (For those of you not from these parts, following along on Mapquest is recommended only for the terminally bored.) I was impressed at how wide Baseline's shoulder was and surprised how hard it was, figuring that the whole continent slopes down from Boulder to the Mississippi. Arriving at the party I downed a beer to kill the (still fairly minor) pain and commenced having a good time. Recalling the time 10:23 from the last run of the 227, I took my leave and got to the bus stop a minute before such a time. Unfortunately, that time was for a stop a few minutes distant. D'oh. I rode up several blocks to see if I could catch it after its loop, but no dice. Fortunately, my front light had recently been stolen, which I'd replaced with a cool white LED light which is brighter and longer lasting on the same number of batteries. So after heading up a decent hill I was astounded how downhill the journey from Louisville to Boulder is. You can tell I don't get out much. The ride back, being in the cool of night and mostly downhill, was quite enjoyable. A bit over 45 minutes on return; a distance of about 11.5 miles. (For the slow, that's about 15 mph, which is about what I make on my 20- and 30- minute crosstown endeavors. Nice.) Upon arriving at home, I dropped my waterpack, socks, and pocket contents in a pile and sank my sore ass (why didn't I remember my biking shorts?) in the chair for an hour of SNL reruns, featuring a genius performance of Ian McKellan doing all characters in a one-man play about Charles Dickens's life, among other things. So after an hour of being swallowed by an armchair, my leg finally started hurting. (Let that be a lesson to you. Like, if you break your arm, ride a motorcycle around instead of propping it on a table and reading.)
So on Sunday my mom got me up too early for my body's preferences to take part in a chunk of her workshop (led by a friend of ours, Frank MacEowen, author of the just-published The Mist-Filled Path: Celtic Wisdom for Exiles, Wanderers, and Seekers). After applying some stinging homeopathic aids to my wounds, we drove to Chataqua for some discussion and an exercise. The exercise consisted of finding a tree, taking a few deep breaths, making an offering to the tree (like some hair, which I'm sure the trees were really hoping for ;-), becoming aware of our surroundings, extending our spirits below the ground, getting in touch with the tree's energy, sounding with the tree, and ending this run-on sentence. I'd been thinking about wet heavily deciduously forrested areas quite a bit over the past week; Maryland specifically, but streamlets at I found a little fairy grove, complete with latticed tree hut, and sat on an adjacent rock to perform said exercise. I haven't really sat next to a tree for quite a while, so it started with just readjusting my body and mind to a grove. I then experienced a rekindling of overflowing velvet sweetness just below my breast, the biochemical experience I've assumed is love. My experience of love frequently has a subject (me) but no object for the verb to act upon; I love like I happy. As a natural stoic, I haven't loved in a while, but it's not an unwelcome feeling. Maybe my close encounter of the thud kind brought me out of my shell a bit. Sitting in the trees by the stream with love in my heart brough back some of my favorite summer memories. I feel the same way now as I did then, completely at bliss, in total awe of her awesomeness, bubbling over with smiles, the persistent need to wrap myself in soft wonderfulness. My spirit has the good sense to keep this blanket of sensation stored in the trunk of my being, preventing it from getting in the way, avoiding tears and dirt; spreading it out on the bedrock of my being on special occasions calling for softness.
So after that lovely experieince, I headed to campus for punctuated web surfing and movie watching. Checking memepool for the first time in several months I tangentially learned a lot about real vampires. It seems that there are people who are predominantly nocturnal, are somewhat resistant to mortal ailments, and have a drug-like need for blood (or psychich energy). There are obviously people who pretend like they're vampires, but the descriptions on various FAQs indicate people who are behaving honestly and naturally. And the existance of such people would explain the creation of vampire myths. I mean, we don't have stories about people who are really burly, hate the dark, and have a persistent need to chew on bone. Unfortunately, there aren't nearly as many neck biting resources. I'd really like a FAQ or a good nerve schematic or something. Also on the advice of memepool I discovered Small Stories and read most of Same Difference. Probably the best webcomic I've seen. Deep. I also went through steps to set up Cronos on SourceForge. Some punk already created a project called "cronos" two years ago, but there's nothing on the site, no files to download, and just one directory. But my year of hard work will soon have a home for further development and distribution.
Between web surfing, I took in an old print of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid that was in really bad shape, unless the original had a brownish tinge and was scratched to Bolivia and back. But it's a good flick. Wonderfully humorous and functional dialog which keeps the "quiet western guy" feel. Then in the evening I saw Waydowntown, a Canadian film about four people who work and live in connected downtown buildings and have a pool going to see who can go the longest without going outside. The film happens in roughly real time and has all kinds of stuff going on in a lot of the scenes, as well as several plot rivulets, giving it a feel somewhat like Timecode. It's pretty hillarious; lots of neat shots, cool lines, and silly antics. I recommend you try to find it.
Apologies again on the poor prose above; I'm still not caught up on sleep, for one reason and another.