JazzFest was wonderful. I loved the city, the people, the way everyone moved. And then I moved wrong. I wasn't yet out of this city--didn't have Los Angeles out of my body yet. I was in too much of an L. A. -fuck you all- hurry, instead of an LA -love you all- saunter myself along, and it cost me. I wasn't into New Orleans yet. Perhaps it wasn't inside of me yet. But it's kind of silly to waste time figuring shit like that out now. Really.
I went to get a drink and some food for Rick. As I finished my last stop, Crawfish Monica--a true Jazzfest staple--probably the most-loved food of the old-timers there, I turned to hustle back. With my 2 beloved daiquiris, sweet potato chips (without the powdered sugar-why do I feel like I have to tell you that?) and the steaming hot, rich sauce-covered pasta with crawfish meat bits all on the tray, my mind wasn't on where I was walking.
My left foot somehow ended up getting caught under the 18-inch long protruding foot of the police barricade right next to the food stand I was turning away from. I was moving way too fast. Things were all happening too, too fast. I wasn't in rhythm with anything. Most especially my surroundings. It was happening. Again. It's happened so many times, and it was happening again. One of those accidents that happens when I'm out of my body. It was going to ruin everything. I couldn't let it happen. I stiffened my entire bod. It didn't help. It happened anyway, and that stiff bod of mine? That made the whole thing worse. Shit, shit, shit. When I opened my eyes, there I was. Here was my body sprawled on the pavement, which was covered lightly with about an inch of sand and now, Sweet potato chips, two daiquiries, a small order of Crawfish Monica. Hmm. PISSED!
People began rushing up to me, around me, talking to me--and all I could think of was whether or not my underpants were showing. I was wearing a denim skirt. I couldn't imagine what it would look like for all those people to have an aerial view of my giant underpants blaring out at them from below, yet I was too embarrassed to put my hand back there to check. I couldn't see. What to do? I couldn't get up. I tried to move, and felt the back of my skirt touch the back of my thighs right where I expected it to be. One issue down. Many to go. Could I STAND? Would people just stop talking to me? I wanted to disappear. One lady wanted to put her ice-laden HUGE drink, an iced tea no doubt, on one of my injuries. I rebuffed her advance because I hadn't even taken stock yet of what those were! I hadn't had time to feel anything physically. I was barely even back IN my bod yet.

The next thing I remember was hearing someone ask me if I wanted him to call me an ambulance. Somehow I knew he was an older, black man. I'm sorry. I know that sounds racist, but it was the way he said it: AM-BU-laaaaaaance.
I started to laugh, and looked in the direction of the comment. All I could say was, "No, I want you to move this damn thing, before someone gets KILLED!" It was the 'security guard' who was in charge as it is, of the area around the barricades. Ya know, it's a volunteer deal. I grabbed onto and climbed up the barricade to stand up. I didn't dare put my hands on the ground as that would mean forcing my ass into the air to stand up. I knew I couldn't do that but this was a much more awkward way of getting up. But somehow I was on my feet. I looked around, realizing all the stuff I had been carrying had disintegrated. I suppose someone picked up the containers, etc. At the time it was a huge mystery which defied comprehension. The food and drink were just gone, melted into the sand. A few sweet potato chips visible in the sand was about it. There was a huge, unexplainable loss. I was a child again--about losing the food, the money it all cost, the physical pain. It was unfair painful embarrassing and I was going to get in trouble for it. I mentioned the money I had just lost due to the dangerously based barricade to no one specifically and the man at the food stand dished up a new bowl of Crawfish Monica and offered me a large pump bottle of Purell. Setting the food aside, I grabbed a few napkins out of the dispenser and tried to clean up using the Purell. Giving it back, I began to rant about the barricade again. Telling the guard about the lawsuit that I was going to file, how the barricade needed to be moved back, finally resorting to moving it back myself. Security dude didn't seem to know how to react. He stammered, stuttered, moving the barricade back into harms way, now the sting was raging. EVERYWHERE. I felt lightheaded too. I asked for the Purell again having realized that a full half of my bod was injured that I hadn't even noticed earlier. Good grief! I wanted to be invisible so badly just now. I cleaned myself up grabbed Rick's second bowl of food, and took my time getting back to our seats, finally, literally in pace with the place. Then I cried.