Friday, October 07, 2005

How can so much happen when I don’t really do anything?

I am, to start, not altogether convinced that I am completely healthy. Remember how I felt like lead? Apparently that feeling also went on holiday in Inverness, and now it’s back. Hi!

Having the same mindset as I did last time I felt so tired I walked halfway across town. I’m ignoring Wednesday. I didn’t do anything. Seriously. The day’s highlight was finding a new grocery store.

My place is located in the northeast section of the city, and I walked all the way down to the southwest part of the city. Why? To try and find a knitting and/or embroidery store. I need an embroidery hoop. Stop looking at me like that.

I walked up Prince’s street (the main locals’ shopping drag), listening to my music, and then a woman with blond hair and a nose stud stopped me. I knew her. My brain went into overdrive, trying to figure out HOW THE HELL I KNOW THIS PERSON! DEAR GOD, QUICK, BEFORE SHE NOTICES!

I haven’t the faintest idea what her name is, but I met her in Inverness of all places. She was playing at the Ceòl Beò1 sessions and was at the big dinner following. We had a lovely talk about Edinburgh and I highly enjoy her. She was in Edinburgh for the night, and now shopping for a half hour before heading to the airport to go to Sweden, where she’s from.

Y’all, it is so weird to run into people I know. The other day I saw Aussie Swing Dance Ben but didn’t say hi because I’d forgotten his name. Yesterday I saw what’s her name from the Royal Theatre Pub.

You know what this is like? It’s like the end of my freshman year at Guilford where I barely felt like I knew anyone, and as my parents and I were driving to lunch every single person we passed knew me and waved. And I was all, where the hell have you people been?

That is what this is like.

So I continued on my way and walked down into a churchyard and admired the old, old graveyards that were split into small sections and are now being used for storage of things like plywood and road barriers.

And then I ran into a man who talked my ear off about something that I couldn’t quite figure out but he was staring at my shoes and telling me about his life and parents and how he has been walking and is now away from home and woe and now he is starting to have a bit of a panic attack and so I stopped him and asked how I could help. He was asking for food or money. Nice. I gave him some change to make him stop talking and let him continue on to the church.


I finally found the store I was looking for, and boy was it crap. The good part of the wandering was that I found a theatre where, on Oct 30, they’re playing the original Nosferatu with live organ music! How cool is that? So cool!

And I walked back and slept for some undetermined amount of time, then went out for dinner and internet. And on the way back I ran into Rita in front of a little convenience store.

What the hell.

She was there with a friend of hers. They were coming back from the swing dance class where they’d gotten kicked out. Turned out to be a complete beginner you had to start those classes four weeks ago. Oops. We stood and talked a while about swing dancing and other such things. A man came out of the store carrying a pizza. He came over to us and said something I didn’t quite catch.

“How much?” he asked again.

It took me a second to figure out what the hell he was talking about, but when I did I punched him in the face and then kicked him in the nads.

I didn’t really, but that’s way more interesting that what I did, which was to say “No,” in a variety of stern and disgusted ways. As he walked away he turned back and said he was kidding, ha ha!

So I bought a car and ran him down.

If the three of us had looked even remotely like we might’ve been in the sex business (if we had, for instance, been wearing gobs of makeup – or any, even – and/or had been at all scantily clad, or perhaps been wearing some sort of “Prostitute” badge) then I might’ve understood why he thought that, but we were all wearing trousers and long sleeved shirts and sneakers and generally thick jackets.

Maybe that’s what they wear around here when they’re strolling down the streets, looking for customers. I wouldn’t blame them. It’s cold here.

Anyway. I went to the swing dancing class (the third of three on Thursday nights)(I can go because I have the basic down). I got to talk to Ben and Helen (the couple from Australia and Sweden, respectively)(I think she’s from Sweden).

Dance, dance, dance.

When it was over I saw Jacqi – the woman who showed interest in me teaching a blues class. She asked if I’d said anything about it to anyone, and I said I hadn’t. She took my hand and tucked my arm under hers and brought me over to Michael and oh… um… damn. L--? …Liam? Some British name like that. She said I wanted to teach a class, and they said great! How about next week?


I mean, yes! Of course next week would be just great! I am not at all terrified!

Ben and Helen invited me out to get food with them. I agreed, even though I was a little tired because I would like v. much to get to know them better. Turned out there were 10 of us going. So much for a personal invitation, but whatever. We piled into cars and drove to – get this – the southwest of the city. Yes, right where I’d walked earlier that day. Har har har.

I ended up sitting next to the aforementioned Michael and the Norwegian, whose name we spent the car ride trying to figure out. All the younger swing dancers that I was hoping to get connected with were sitting at the other end of the table. Blast.

Kathy gave me a ride home. Ben and Helen rode in the back seat with someone, and they laughed and chatted. I talked with Kathy in the vein of “Those Kids Today,” referring mostly to the drunk people wandering about the city. And yet I wanted to be one of the kids in the back seat. But it was good to talk to her.

Aaaand… yes. Swing dancing this weekend. That's all for now.

1 I would like to note that Gaelic is a weird, weird language. Ceòl Beò sounds like Kill Bill. Ceilidh = Kay-lee. Eilidh = Ay-lee. How is that at all ever logical? It’s not, that’s how.

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