I had a very bad day. Some would say that it's all my own fault. Amy would be one of those people. Amy, in fact, would demand to know why I couldn't be more careful. "Bad things are always happening to you!" Gee, thanks. Yeah. No, I wasn't shaken up or emotionally wrecked from today's happenings, no, not at all. Another turn on the rack? Please? Right! You yelling at me in such a supportive manner is _sure_ to bring out the best in me and Future Me.
So my bike needs to go to the shop, but I woke up late after having shitty dreams and having trouble sleeping and whatnot, so I still drove it into the city. Bad me. Why can't I be more careful? I really shouldn't drive it anywhere. I should just wake up perfectly on time and walk down to BART perfectly and have a perfect day at work, until my bike can be perfectly fixed.
[[Amy walked out to be alone, but I don't know when she's coming back or what she'll be demanding when she does. This may be interrupted. I should be calling Allstate, as I have rental insurance with them. But it's more important to me to get my feelings and thoughts down before they change too much, before I start inventing too much in what I write down]]
I make it to work just fine, but I remember the oil was low. Dangerously low. ::ominous sound:: I have a hellish morning at work with a beautiful little five alarm fire, while trying to work out other complicated code things. I take a break, feeling a bit shaky, for lunch, and get a taco at the tacqueria (Comida). After that ever-so-filling taco, I get a quart of oil. I get back to work, pour in half the oil, run the engine, and let it sit. I work on code. The day is starting to calm down, but it's still a bit awkward. I go out, check the oil, and it's still too low to show in the filler glass, so I slowly pour the rest of the quart in, and blammo. It's _just right_. I go back inside.
What you missed here was me putting my keys in the engine the second time I went outside. I know, I missed it, too. I presume I was going to run the engine again. But I decided I didn't need to, and I managed to leave the keys in the engine for close to two hours.
At 4:10 I gathered my things up, put on my jacket, backpack, helmet, glasses, gloves (that's the general order of things), and prodded at my pockets for me keys. OH SHIT THEY'RE NOT THERE. Gee. OH SHIT, MAYBE THEY'RE IN THE BIKE. Yep. I race outside and my bike is there--and the keys are in it.
OH SHIT, THE BIKE WAS LEFT ON... and it's dead. Totally dead. I go in, explain the situation, and Kim (a friend of Brian's) suggests pushstarting it. I explain my utter ineptitude, but he seems gung-ho, so we give it a heave-ho. Well, he does. I take off my gloves and helmet and jacket in preparation for this sweaty fun. He pushes, I ride, and ... no go. He pushes, I ride, and ... no go. He pushes, I push, I jump on, and ... no go.
So I figure ... there's a hill nearby. I can push it to the top of the hill and ride down. That sounds like a dandy Idea. I mean, if I'm up for it. So I push it up two blocks of 3-5 degree hill, and ride it down ... no go.
I push it up again, stopping more often, and actually drop the bike onto the wall of a building (some kind passeryby helped me keep it from going all the way down, helped me keep it from crushing, cracking, or in some other way breaking me), and I realize I was in front of a mechanics'. So I went in there, breathless, and asked how much a jump was. I have to wait a bit as they're playing musical cars trying to move things in and out of the garage, but he gets someone to come out and jump the bike.
The side panel needs to come off to get at the battery, and that requires an allen wrench... but the nut that the bolt is attached to... is no longer welded to the frame as it's supposed to be (happened a long time ago, and may have been like that since I bought the bike--it's a pain in the ass). Mechanic goes to get another wrench, but I manage to pop off part of the cover, and with another mechanic helping they manage to get the huge claws of their jumper cables pressed against the studs of my battery, and VROOM! YAY! BIKE!
So I nurse the gas on the bike for a bit, and then ask if I can leave the bike running there on its sidestand while I go and get my helmet and jacket. Here I have a flash of "oh shit--did I _really_ just leave my stuff on the curb near where I work--OH SHIT OH SHIT OH SHIT". But the flash goes away briefly and I'm running beyond full throttle (downhill, HUUUUUUUUUUUGE flying pounding leaps downhill), though I manage to stop myself for the stoplight and flowing traffic, to the relief of other pedestrians waiting at the light. I run up the block and ... things don't look right. I have some trouble communicating with Brian ((he's in the loading door)), but eventually I understand that some hooker gave him my helmet and gloves. I run up to where I left stuff, and there's nothing there; I leave my helmet and gloves inside timbuk2, and run after the hooker to see if she saw my jacket... no, she didn't.
She thinks it's odd that someone would steal my jacket and not my helmet and gloves, and I do as well, but so it is. We walk up and down the block looking here and there and we ask some other folks in the vicinity if they saw anything--to no avail. I go inside to MAKE SURE I'm not being stupid and stuff isn't just lying inside the doorway like it would have been smart to do. But. I see nothing. I go into the ecomroom and poke and prod at piles of things--nothing.
Then I realize a weight is missing from my back--oh. shit. my backpack is gone, too. of course, that came off when I took my jacket off--part and parcel and all that. So...... I run back outside and up and down the block looking for any clue of my backpack... and I go for a walk with alanna around the block looking for suspicious scraps of electric blue... or anything, really.
My backpack is very important to me. It has my camera (a birthday present from many years ago, well loved by me, with a large memory stick and many emotionally invested pictures on it). It has my ipod (a christmas present from Amy, well loved by me, which has certainly increased my overall sanity the last many months I've been using it more seriously). It has my ... all my ... fucking ... writing. all my doodles, all my notes, everything that hadn't yet made its way onto a computer in some form or other. It also has some worthless stock, and -- oh shit, it has a book I'd borrowed and a flannel I'd borrowed. Isn't this just getting better and better?
The jacket's important to me, too--it's an expensive biker jacket, and has saved me from potentially more serious injury in at least one large wreck. And it's a nice jacket. And it has good memories. and stuff like that.
I find the hooker again and ask if she saw the backpack... nope. A little more up and down and then I remember I left the motorcycle running outside at the mechanic's and I _REALLY_ have to deal with that. So I run up the block and up two blocks of hills, and the bike's still there and it's running rather nicely at this point, with the topping-off of new oil and all. I thank him profusely, explain why it took me so long to get back, and he gives me a jacket he says he'd been meaning to throw away. I thank him profusely for that as well (it is a ratty jacket, but better to ride with than a t-shirt). And then I ride around the city looking for suspicious places and I bike down to the hooker again and she suggests I go up to the park to see if anyone's trying to sell my stuff there. And she promises to snag whatever she can if she happens to see it on someone in the future.
So I go to the park, and park by it, and walk a long circle around it, checking every trash can for remnants, and ... yeah, nothing. When I get back to my bike, a pair of folks are looking very concerned at their vehicle--they just suffered a hit-and-run. It sort of looks like they thing a white vehicle that had stopped then drove off might have done it, so I remember the license plate for them and ascertain more information. I give them the license plate, though it seems now unlikely that it's helpful, but... eh. Everyone's having a wonderful day.
Then I go to writing group because today is writing group and I flaked on it last week because my bicycle was stolen, and it wouldn't be right to not at least show up and let people know I wasn't going to be around. So I sat there and told this story and... calmed down a little bit, and came home.
Where I explained to Amy this story, prefacing it with 'I didn't get in an accident', because the last time I even just called her in the middle of the day she was sure I'd wrecked when instead I just wanted to tell her I loved her.
So then everything blew up with me not being careful enough.
And she's gone off.
And now I'm going to read this renters policy information and file a claim, if I can.
[[updated--haven't called, soon will. making a list of items in the bag, and I'm surprising myself really. Amy came back and apologized for treating me like a child, but she wishes I'd understand how hard she works for her money. :/]]