I'm not a number

Now more than ever I'm aware of the uniqueness of the human body, the one of a kindness that makes every individual a different shape. Where I work, sizes are merely numbers so you know where to hang the clothing in stock. Then they come to me, and I tailor it into a perfectly fitted garment. So I was slightly embarrassed at how excited I was to discover I'd dropped two waist sizes. I figured that Old Navy would be running small, but their size sixteen fits me. That's the first time I've gotten into a sixteen in, oh, fifteen years. It's brilliant. I celebrated by having pizza.

Yesterday was slightly frustrating though. I have been having these odd pains in my side, so I finally went to see a doctor about it. He examined me and told me he thought it might be kidney stones. I was actually slightly relieved at that diagnosis--it's better than the horrifying images of ovarian cancer I had dancing through my head--although, of course, it's far from a walk in the park. The way to find out for sure was to have an x-ray taken. To do this, I needed to trot down to another building, about a block away. When I got there, however, I discovered that they wouldn't take my insurance. The place I had to go to to get x-rays taken was all the way across town. ("Over by Wal-Mart," were her exact words, actually) By this point, however, it was about twenty after eleven, and I had told my boss I'd be in by noon. So I decided against medical attention and called a taxi to come get me. An hour later...it arrived. I was so mad at the taxi company for misleading me (they had originally said half an hour) that I forgot to put a tapestry needle under my first two buttons on my waistcoat. I'm trying to focus on the positive things about my experience, like a good doctor who listened to my thoughts, being able to get off of work and oh, how about HAVING insurance and only having to pay $15 for the whole experience.

Williamsburg is not designed for people without cars. It's just not. Things are spread out, stores are clustered into little mini-malls that all seem to have their own parking lot, divided by roads and trees. Most of the time (like this morning, when I had all the time in the world) it's fine. When I'm in my regular routine of working and coming home, I get along fine. But every time I have to do something out of my routine or I'm doing something for the first time, it seems to take three times as long as it should, and that's frustrating.

I'm not meaning to bitch about my situation here. Whining about it doesn't help anything. And besides, if it weren't for my bike, I probably wouldn't have a size sixteen waist and calf muscles that would make any fop jealous.