While waiting for my project partner to show up at my house (dude, where the hell are you?), I took a long walk to campus to get some iced chai. When I walked into the coffee shop, by this point dripping sweat down my forehead and off the upper lip as I tend to do when I get off my ass and start moving every Spring, two women sitting nearby on a couch looked at me and said, “Is that her?”
“I think so.”
“Go ask.”
“No!”
I looked over at them and the two broke out into shit-eating grins. They looked like grad students or fresh faculty. One said hello. I said hello back. Then I got my coffee and sat outside on the patio for a few minutes before I left. Though tempted to talk to them, I didn’t.
I’ve had a bit of paranoia lately about the blog and about people recognizing me on the street, especially since my full name is more visible now than ever and because I’ve gotten email from several people on campus inquiring about me. I’ve only been approached about this blog by one person and it was an uncomfortable experience. Sometimes I forget about the publicity of this thing, and just how different I feel in person as opposed to the somewhat planned and guarded nature of online writing.
I walked home and mused about the evening, wondering if my project partner would ever call me (still hasn’t), and realized as soon as I walked in the door that I had a massive blister on the bottom of my foot, buried under one of the thickest callouses on my feet. And yes, it fucking hurts.