Diggers in my Front Yard and the Golden Monkey

As a disclaimer, I'm am very caffeinated at this moment. So I may not take responsibility for any posts later this evening . . . because evidently, I'm not sleeping tonight. Damn Golden Monkey.

But first the diggers. I arrived home to diggers in my driveway, complete with piles of dirt and digger men. To be more specific, the diggers were blocking my driveway and the piles of dirt were what was part of my front yard. I know that I don't pay attention, but should the city have sent me a memo or something about this? I've gotten a couple of memos inviting me to talking about it, which I skipped granted, but for this I think they should have given me a sticky on my front door or something. "We are destroying your yard tomorrow" it could read in Sharpie. There was no sticky. I looked.

So I could not park in my driveway. And then there was the walking through all the dirt, wincing about my brick edging (now under dirt). I'm sure they'll put it back . . . better than it was. Right? Upon leaving, I had to quiz the digger men. How long are you going to be here? (Mostly because earlier this evening I had sleeping on the agenda . . . and the beeping of the diggers was not going to facilitate that. Now it doesn't matter as much.) What time are you coming in the morning? Digger man and I established that I would be able to sleep without beeping and get out of my driveway in the morning. Excellent. I was late, so I didn't chat about the dirt piles. Again, I'm sure they'll put everything back. Right?

Still managed to get to Ferndale (fashionable? really . . . still?) slightly early and not having any idea where I was going, decided to not be early and go shop quickly. Because early would have been bad . . . or not as good as on time. See kick ass knitting bag. Decide that I do not need knitting bag . . . and want it in another color. Find that it is the only bag of it's type in the store. Decide to leave it up to the fates. If it was there when I got back, I could buy it. Shopping Russian roulette. Always dangerous, because if someone else decides it's cool, well, then you'll never get over the longing. You could have bought it. You had it in your hand. Go to find the place I'm supposed to be.

Ferndale now plays eighties alternative, over loud speakers, downtown. I wonder who in the DDA thought up that plan, because I find it disconcerting to have Sixousie and the Banshees in the background as I'm walking, looking for place I'm supposed to be in two minutes. A bit too John Hughes movie for me. That kind of stuff is only supposed to go on in your head. A common personal soundtrack . . . well, it's not personal.

I think the place only served tea. They had a menu . . . which I read a little. But went with the "Golden Monkey" . . . because if you have a chance to order something called "Golden Monkey", wouldn't you? Hell, I want a shirt that says that. I hope it wasn't $85 dollar tea or something . . . I probably should have been paying more attention (boy, isn't that the theme of the week?). Talked for a hour with another human being that I found interesting (sometimes hard for me . . . ). More aptly, was questioned for an hour by another human . . . plus drank really caffeinated tea. But didn't figure that out until about another hour later, when I found myself on the ceiling of a Barnes and Noble.

There was a window of time. So after went to the "record" store, which is now full of CDs and bought the Shiny Toy Guns CD. Only currently like one song, thank you very much, but it might grow on me. And the kick ass knitting bag was still there, with 40% off socks and 50% off tank tops, plus a camouflage shirt that I will wear on Friday (and try to be convincing about it being a school color). I then went to Barnes and Noble and bought poetry books and wondered why I was bouncing off the walls. Hmm . . . what was it that I drank at that place with the tea? Liquid crank? And if it wasn't a Tuesday . . . well, that would be great.

So I guess I'll be figuring out three weeks worth of poetry lesson plans tonight . . . I'll be up and all. Maybe I'll crash. Let's hope for that. Because I can't knit in meetings anymore and there's one tomorrow . . . and I can't tell anyone what I think. Because no one likes that.

Again, I will be in denial about anything I write later . . . at 3 a.m. . . . after I have graded all the papers I have (yeah, right) and cleaned the grout in my bathroom. Riding the Golden Monkey.