Miscellaneous Trivia

Yesterday I renewed my driver's license. It didn't take long--only an hour. Snark. But they do have a pretty efficient system, if you discount the fact that you have to cross from the door to the other side of the room to get to the Starting Gate. I don't know why they don't have the processing point (the Starting Gate) near the door. Instead, someone entering has to wend through folding chairs and past all sorts of desks in order to arrive at the Get On Your Mark Get Set Go place, where one is given a number and directed to the folding chairs to wait for that number to be called. My number was 53. They were calling 39 as I took my seat.

The woman beside me was apparently beside herself, as well (if you'll forgive the pun). She kept massaging her leg muscles and doing stretching exercises as if she were there for a marathon rather than a license renewal. Her whole aura was tension and stress. I thought runners were cool and laid back and full of exercise-induced tranquility. This woman was practically crawling around inside her own skin. Finally they called her number and she sprinted toward the desk to do her business.

There was one guy there, dressed elegantly in shorts and a sleeveless red t-shirt, who was there practically the whole time, doing whatever business he had to do. The clerk who was dealing with him didn't have to wait on any other people the whole time. This guy took up most of an hour. I don't know what he needed, but clearly, Homeland Security could have been involved. Personally, if I were to wish to do intense business of that sort, I'd have dressed in a less conspicuous manner, but to each, his/her own.

A young black mother was there with her own little boy and a nephew. She spent her time alternately ignoring the two tykes and then screaming for them to return to her side when they'd been gone for a while. Neither one of the kids was over two years old, I wouldn't imagine.

One woman came in wearing sandals or flip-flops, I don't recall. What I recall was her toes. Perhaps she'd spent a lifetime wearing shoes that weren't big enough. I don't know. But each of her toes turned up at the end, like a little flip or curl, and each toenail was shiny and brightly painted, as if to say, "Look at me! I'm a freak of nature!"

Having just finished the Crossroads Writing Project, I am looking at the world again like a writer, and it's a good thing. The photo attached is our group photo, complete with our facilitators. Some great women, some good writing, some bad writing. But we all bonded, as women are prone to do, without much bloodshed.

I'll write more when I'm not quite so under the weather. Major discovery: extra-spicy salsa tastes good, but it doesn't quite digest as well as one might hope.

Oh, and tomorrow I'll be 58 years old.