Most of my day was highly frustrating, but it ended on a totally lovely note. I left the house at 8:45 (after six hours of sleep, which is not enough for my geriatric state), but since it took an hour and a half to drive to Palo Alto in the intermittent rain, I was fifteen minutes late for my training session with Alyssa. She continues to be on a stretching and flexibility kick, and so while we worked out just enough to ensure that I'm sore, we spent the rest of the time doing some truly torturous exercises that are supposed to benefit my flexibility in the long term. The PVC pipe that she used on my shins on Monday bruised my right leg, and my feet got a good workout yesterday from an exercise that involved standing barefoot on a golfball for several minutes yesterday, so today we focused on my back. And the back exercise involved two tennis balls duct taped together so that they fit on either side of my spine, and then slowly rolling my back over the tennis balls to work into my back muscles. It was possibly the most painful thing ever (not really, but you know I like hyperbole), but since my squats and lunges are already looking better as a result of Alyssa's tender ministrations, I can't argue with success. She's going to Vegas next weekend to take another class related to movement exercises, so I expect that the experimentation will continue for awhile, but at least I manage to stay entertained despite the pain.
Post workout, I showered, then went to Sprout for lunch. I might have stayed longer, but the place filled up quickly and people were scavenging my table (I ended up giving it to a girl named Danielle, who randomly walked up just as I was getting up and whom I hadn't seen in ages; she's actually good friends with Jess and John, but I know her because I managed her a lifetime ago). Also, the woman sitting next to me was making agreeing sounds to everything her friend said by emitting some sort of weird high pitched moan, which made for an unpleasant accompaniment to my attempts to brainstorm.
And that's where the afternoon slowly went off course. I went to Stanford after that, with the intention of writing in the library all afternoon, but I couldn't find any parking at all, either in Tresidder or in the new parking garage under Wilbur Field. Then, as I tried to get off campus, I drove straight through a massive horde of people leaving Maples, and since there weren't any traffic control officers when they left, they just kept streaming through the crosswalks at the Galvez stop sign without letting anyone through. I sat there for ten minutes before a cop showed up and stopped them, so at least I escaped before my rage boiled off.
So I decided to run my errand for the day and go to Target, which killed an hour. Then I tried to go to Red Rock Cafe in Mountain View, but after waiting out a sudden downpour in the parking lot, I walked in and found that every single table on both floors was taken. So I got back in my car, found a Starbucks, and took their last free table, where I read the stories for tonight's writing group (more on that in a second). Then I tried my luck with Stanford again, and this time I was successful. It turns out there was a career fair on campus this afternoon, which explains the lack of visitor parking, but I arrived too late to apply for any jobs. Instead, I went to the library and knocked out three pages of Malcolm and Amelia's new opening; not a lot, but since I spent an undue amount of time describing how gorgeous Malcolm is, I felt both productive and strangely dirty.
After writing, I grabbed a quick dinner at the Coho, but yet another stranger ruined yet another cafe experience. This time was worse, though; a guy asked if he could share my table, since everything was full, which is common there, so I said sure. But then he sat across from me and proceeded to stare, giggle to himself, and drink three fountain Cokes in quick succession, without ever attempting to pretend like he was working, checking a phone, whatever. He also had a pink backpack, which I found v. disconcerting. If I were less of a coward I would have asked him if he was alright, since there's a chance he was suicidal instead of homicidal -- but I'm a coward, so when he finished the third coke, I decided it was time to call it a night.
I made it back to my car without having to stab him with my car key, which I counted as a success. Then I met up with my historical fiction writing group; this meeting was at Christine's apartment, which is in Palo Alto and quite close to Joanie's Cafe (yay). There were only four of us tonight, but we had a great discussion. I was particularly interested in Chris's piece, since she's writing a screenplay and I've never really read screenplays before. We wrapped up around nine, but I stayed for twenty minutes after that because she had a book she wanted to loan me. And because I stayed, we actually got to know each other a little bit beyond the writing; it's funny how you can join these groups, go to each others' houses, and know next to nothing about the people you're interacting with. It turns out that she isn't working right now either, so hopefully we'll get lunch together or something in the v. near future.
Finally, happily, I drove home, and I'm so excited that I don't have to drive anywhere at all tomorrow. I think I'll hang out in my neighborhood and keep pressing forward with Malcolm and Amelia's story. The Blue Angels are in town for Fleet Week, so perhaps I'll sit on the roof if it's nice out and write while warplanes fly overhead -- sounds romantic, right? Goodnight!
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