Last Wednesday I say to pit crew, "I have to tell you the saddest story."
Pit crew instantly says, "Is it about Haiti?"
"Oh my god, nevermind!"
But then I tell him anyway that I finally managed to sneak away to the art store to get ink and a squeegee to print my name on the back of my practice shirts, picked everything out, brought it to the register, and didn't have my wallet.
I know, tragedy. I mean, the art store; could there be anything more discretionary? And when I got back to work, my wallet was just on my desk.
But it's like that, you know? Everything in the world, and in your world, all going on, all in your head, all at once.
But I was just about to buy a new set of wheels, and donated to Partners In Health instead.
