Death By Chocolate Cake

I haven’t ridden my bike in almost two weeks.  I have a litany of excuses related but not limited to a pencil stabbing and birthday cake.

I am exhausted from the first week of school.  This week is usually completely tiring, even when all goes well.

All did not go well.

In the span of one week my precious students dealt me 2 bouts of vomit, 1 rush of pee on the playground, 1 pencil stabbing, 1 punch in the face, and a long string of profanity.

I’m going to have to dig down deep this year.

My body tends to tell me when it’s time to rest by getting sick.  I woke up Saturday with a bit of a stomach bug.  I laid on the couch and watched a lot of bad tv.  Sunday I woke up with fever aches, but by Sunday afternoon I was feeling well enough to go to the grocery store.

My step-dad, Chris, has been taking amazing care of my mom as she recovers from eye surgery.  Sunday was his birthday and I wanted to do something nice.  Since I love my step-dad, I didn’t bake for him.  No, I bought him a shimmering quadruple chocolate monstrosity of a cake.

As I carried the cake and an armload of groceries from the car to the house, I noticed that the washing machine had leaked all over the garage for the second time that weekend.  I stepped carefully because flip-flops do not have the greatest traction.  I’d almost made it to the door when my feet slipped.  I held the cake aloft.  Oh no, oh no, please don’t let me ruin the cake.  Wait, please don’t let me hit my head or ruin the cake.  No, wait, please don’t let me hit my head, rip the seat of my pants or ruin the cake. With a thud and a weird “Oof” of air, I landed squarely on my tailbone.  Pain shot up my back.  I cringed.  What about the cake?  What about the cake?

I peeked in the bag and to my great relief the cake stared back at me in perfect condition.  It’s all about priorities, people.  

Tailbones heal.  Cake does not.

And so there it is, my list of excuses as to why The Rocket is in the garage, stewing with Frank.  That’s never good.  I’ll ride soon and I hope that when I do, The Rocket will forgive me without demanding penance for my inactivity or for the divine piece of chocolate cake I inhaled.

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