Smallhouse Log

Saturday

My knee was bothering me a little last night when I left for the Critical Mass. After six miles, it wasn't too bad, probably because I stopped partway along to buy a bike seat post, which enabled me to sit down while pedaling. After three and a half hours of dancing and otherwise rocking out to the Polkaholics (who may well be the best bar band I've ever seen -they made me wonder why I ever stop listening to polka long enough to listen to anything else), I was conscious of it, but not feeling like it was in bad shape. I did leave early -that is, during the fourth of four consecutive sets- but because I felt as though I was falling asleep on my feet and knew I wanted to bike home. After riding the six miles home, I was probably treating the knee a little gingerly, but too tired to really make note of it. After getting fourteen hours of sleep, I am trying to do laundry, and I wince with every stair on my way to and from the basement.

But hey, "Jolly James" Wallace told me I was the best dancer in the bar. And unlike usual, I had some competition.

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