Saturday musings

I woke at 5:30 this morning for absolutely no good reason but for the fact that the sun was shining brightly on the other side of my curtains.

Arrrrgh.

Don't get me wrong, I really appreciate the 11 PM dusk, but 5:30 on Saturday is too early to be up unless you're trying to catch a flight. I gingerly rolled over and went back to sleep until 8:30, a much more civilized hour.

Why 'gingerly'? Well, as I've once again relearned through experience, not doing a machine for months, then getting on and doing 40 reps, will leave you in a bit of pain the next day. Right now, I feel like I've been punched in both pecs, and the triceps are right behind them. As long as no one asks me to lift anything heavy above my head today, I should be fine.

I can't say the same for the gang of teenagers I passed walking home at 9 last night, many of whom will probably wake up with hangovers some time around lunch. It's ridiculous how many teenagers - young teenagers, especially - are allowed to wander in packs around the city at night. Look, I understand that teenagers are supposed to be loud and obnoxious, but we did most of our group activity at the Summit, generally around the movie theater. I know my friends drank during high school, but it was usually at a place, like someone's house or school. (Hey, it was a boarding school on 250 acres. You try to control everything that goes on around there.) They weren't gathering in the streets with 20-ounce cans of Strongbow, being a nuisance.

This particular gaggle I passed was hanging around the wooded area at the top of St. Leonard's. The girls looked like they'd done their shopping by lifting whole ensembles from TopShop mannequins, while the boys had the usual assortment of jeans and track suits, plus the aforementioned cans of cider. None could have been older than 16. As I approached, a couple of girls ducked through a hole in the fence and descended into the woods, squealing as they ran off to join another faction. (So that's where the marijuana smell came from that one time...) The ones at the top of the hill were clustered around a gate, talking about sex they had had and smoking. As I turned off to take the path home, I found the rest of the group; one girl was sitting on a trashcan, complaining that she had "spunk on her hand" while the boy next to her laughed.

Where are these kids' parents, and why are they permitting them to roam the city? Maybe I'm just too suburban for my own good, but my mom would have killed me if I'd tried a stunt like that. She still doesn't like me out by myself after dark.

On a completely unrelated note, for the first time ever, I have been called "Lawrence" in an e-mail. Usually it's just "Laura", but folks are now getting creative with my gender.