I was going to tell anecdotes about the janitor, but other things have come up.

Yesterday we learned that our very expensive road bikes had been stolen. They were locked in Andrew's car, which was locked in his garage. They were not visible except from inside the garage. So. What can you do? Some fuckers really wanted those bikes.

The worst part, for me, is that I'm temporarily uninsured. I'm always insured, but I missed a payment by accident and the insurance company dropped me. When I called to re-up, they denied me and didn't tell me why, which I've subsequently found out is illegal. Moreover, they said I likely would not be able to obtain insurance from anyone else for the same reason, whatever that reason is. That was a month ago. Fighting the battle to get reinsured has been on my list of things to do. Figures it would happen during the few months I'm not covered.

I'm so unhappy.

And, for Andrew, his car door is trashed, his superbee gone. Then yesterday when he was cruising pawn shops to hang up flyers, he was doored. He and his bike are severely bruised, but nothing is broken.

I can't believe all of that happened in one day.

An amusing little irony is that the woman who hit Andrew is the executive director of a charity for women living with AIDS. She scooped him off the street and took him inside the clinic. The women there fixed him up, gave him water, worried over him, etc. The director offered to buy a new helmet and pay Andrew's medical costs. He couldn't have run into a nicer woman, I say.

Today we're canvassing bike shops and pawn shops, distributing the news and flyers. I think it will prove futile, but it feels best to be doing something. Otherwise, I feel ill about the whole thing and have that lump lodged in my throat again. I'm hoping people don't notice how bad.

Ah well. We had decided not to do the RSVP anyway. A couple of weeks ago the ulnar nerve in my left hand started making noise. My palm is partly numb and the spot aches without pressure. Pressure is intensely painful. Handlebar palsy seems the most likely culprit, but my doctor has ordered X-rays to rule out a stress fracture. I doubt it's that, though.

It's just sad, sad, sad. We had a lot invested in those bikes–money, customization, memories. I see the opportunity to build a new bike from a position of experience, but it's a big price tag. It will take months to afford it, and I have other fiscal goals. I feel so burdened by getting by. If I'm doing all I can, I'm working 11-hour days, which does, in theory, allow me to put money away. If I only work 8-hour days, I don't earn enough to pay my bills. I actually work some number of hours in between. There is so much to make up from that span of underemployment and I can't see any promise of plateau, of security. So all of this just hits hard: If I'm working so much, why is this loss so difficult to recover?

Tonight I had a belated birthday celebration with close friends. We met at a restaurant for a languid dinner. They all brought gifts. I had forgotten how good that feels. We might say that birthdays or other passings aren't important to us, but I think we're lying when we do. They are important; it's important to be acknowledged and important to give people the opportunity to do so.