So today I woke up, worked on my own story and my father's book--he gave me another pile of newsletters to read--went to karate and got the snot kicked out of me in a "light contact" sparring match. I am conflicted as to whether I should be happy she kicks so hard, or whether to be selfishly indignant that "she doesn't follow the forms!" The other white belt is used to punching a bag and and treated me in much the same way. I am looking forward to the bruises.
I asked my father what I should title this post. Incapacitated Marshmallows, he says. He meant to say Incapacitated Hamsters, which makes much more sense.