The Evil Queen™ is still laid up with a monster of a back injury. She’s been out of work for quite some time, which has necessitated changes around the house. Remember when we were all 15 years old and bulletproof? Yeah, that doesn’t last.
So, she and I got to talking about what might happen if I also suffered an injury that put me out of commission — like most families, we’d be in a bit of a financial pickle. Her injury is particularly relevant to my profession, because she literally can’t sit down for more than fifteen minutes at a time, and can’t stand for more than about an hour at a time. Those things are important if your job is angrily punching keys on a computer.
(And before anyone suggests it, no, Dragon Naturally Speaking would never be a solution for my writing style of write a sentence, deleted it, re-write it, move something, move it back, delete, change, etc.).
There is danger inherent in all modes of transportation, including even walking (especially in San Francisco). The thing with a motorcycle, however is how exposed you are to the drunken jackasses, the latte-sipping hipsters that can’t see out of their asinine fake frames, the lipstick-applying ladies focused on the rearview mirror, the “gotta check the scores on my cell phone, bro” dudes, and — above all — the licensed-to-kill bus drivers of this fair city (if you have bad lateral movement, it’s best to vacation elsewhere, trust me, crosswalks and lights are merely suggestions to these cats).
Just one mistake by someone else and it’s two tons of car up against my 155 fighting pounds. As Pookie Chang once said, “you can fuck your math teacher, but you can’t fuck math.”
I know it’s not the greatest bike in the world. It’s not a loud Harley, it’s not a sweet-looking Triumph, it’s not a Buell crotch-rocket or a flashy BMW or anything that turns the heads of other motorcycle drivers, but I loved that bike. Few things made me happier than driving my Savage across town to Borderlands Books to see my buddies Alan and Jude, park that thing right in front between two cars, and stroll in like a gangsta (I still stoll in like a gangsta, mind you, it will just take me longer to get there).
But, the realities of life sometimes catch up with you. People get hurt. Hurt people sometimes can’t work. A two-income family becomes a one-income family, and you have to circle the wagons. While I certainly hate giving up the ride, it’s the smart thing to do. Brains over heart.
And now I have fewer chances of said brains winding up on the pavement. That’s not a good scene for anyone.
How about you Junkies? Ever have to give up that favorite thing or that beloved hobby because of financial woes, time constraints, or just because you have kids and have to start thinking long-term life as opposed to short-term fun?