Either I’m just clumsy, or New York hates me.
First, I hit my head while getting in to the cab. I tried not to look at it as an omen and just the result of misjudgment on my part.
Today, I smashed my finger on the gate of the elevator. It’ one of those old school elevators. It has a gate and a single door (like you’d use to open your bedroom or house). It’s a hassle, especially when you have your luggage with you.
I almost cried — form the pain, frustration and home-sickness — in the cab, but reminded myself that it would smear my mascara.
The past day and a half hasn’t been all bad. I presented a paper on UC admissions with my co-worker in a roundtable format, met up with some friends and didn’t get lost. Later, I had dinner with Sean, watched Lost and narrowly beat my host at Rock Band (actually, it was a draw, but I did beat him at the last song, Creep). I left Harlem for Union Square where the Hispanic Special Interest Group of the AERA was hosting a party. I saw friends I rarely (if ever) see at UCLA and met some new people.
I hope the next few days here are injury free.
Cross your fingers.