After a winter that seemed to last five years, the weather is finally getting nicer. The recent string of sunny, 70-plus degree days has allowed me to leave the dorm in short sleeves. Every time I open the door into the bright outdoors, I unthinkingly reach for my sunglasses in the inside pocket of the coat that I am not wearing. I have had to return to the room for my glasses every. single. time I go to class.
My bike lock broke about two weeks before spring break. It was a nice cylindrical combination lock with easy-to-turn rings that allowed me to unlock it while wearing gloves. The shaft that went into the locking mechanism snapped off during what I would imagine was an especially forceful drop onto the bike rack. I bought a replacement over spring break— on the first of those 70-plus days— planning to bring it back with me at the end of the week. I put at my place so I would remember it. I forgot. I have continued using the old lock to make it look like my bike is locked up. No one has stolen it yet.
I must have dropped one of my lifting gloves while riding my bike to the gym last Friday. I tried to put them on, but found only one in my pocket. I ignored Michael and Jason when they joked about my callous-free "girly hands". I bought some cheap gloves from the gym before lifting with them this evening. The flimsy leather and uncomfortable stitching did not compare to my well-used padded and contoured pair. I wore the new gloves for only a few exercises and returned them right after we finished. The bored blonde girl at the front desk, whom I had bought the gloves from not an hour earlier, looked at me funny and went to the back room to get her manager. They squinted at the receipt and a tattered blue binder for a while. They talked in hushed tones, then with a sigh the manager said, "Well... go ahead and give him his money back."
Before this skydiver, it had been a while since I posted a notebook doodle. It is not for lack of material. The following is the backlog of drawings that I want to retrace or post here sometime in the future: a Roman emperor (to go with the centurion, I guess); a four-armed, knife-wielding demon; a puritan preacher complete with a long black coat, Bible, and a buckle on his hat; and a bodybuilder named Bob (who does not have lifting gloves either). My muse is certainly a strange one.
The dorm's laundry room is infested with short-stealing gnomes. I lost my shiny blue pajama shorts while washing my clothes over the weekend. I have worn another pair of shorts to bed since then, but its waist has lost its elasticity and the string used to tighten the waist has fallen out. I am afraid I will wake up in my normal morning daze and fall flat on my face because the shorts have fallen around my ankles overnight.
I bet the gnomes stole my lifting glove, too.