Well, it's been a really long week, and I'm not sure I have anything of interest to say about it.

Except that Susannah's birthday was Tuesday and Katherine's was Friday so as a joint party, a bunch of us went ice skating and I fell flat on my ass, although just once.

It was kind of funny, actually. I have not been ice skating in I don't know how long, since high school at least. I also have really bad feet, very flat, practically a negative arch. So I could only get around the rink about three times before I'd have to "pull over," so to speak, and shake out my ankles.

With about fifteen minutes left in the session, I was going along quite smoothly, developing a nice little rhythm. I caught up with Justin, one of the people in our group, and said something to him about how we only had a short time left and I was just getting the hang of it.

At which point, Justin fell down. We joked about how he clearly was not getting it, and literally four seconds later, I lost my balance, wobbled for a second, and finally my feet flew forward out from under me and I sat down, hard. It was worse than it could have been because while I was making a conscious effort not to stick my hands behind me to prevent a wrist injury, I didn't think about how much easier it would have been to bring my knees up and fall to the side. Instead I just fell straight down, and it jarred all the way up my back and into my head.

Needless to say, I was done. By some miracle I was able to stand up and regain my balance enough to skate to the benches on the side, where I sat with Ed, another guy in our group, until the session was over.

I took three Aleve when I got home. Even without the fall, I'd be sore tomorrow. And I was just getting over being sore from volleyball on Wednesday night.

So I somehow became in charge of getting the exhibits for our mock trial competition blown up and mounted on posterboard, which is what you're supposed to do so the jury can get a clear view of whatever you're trying to show them.

I e-mailed the professor who's usually in charge of us (he's on sabbatical this semester) and he gave me the name of the printer the school usually uses. He reminded me to get two sets, because both teams would be competing at the same time.

Friday afternoon I went out to pick them up. I had taken my library boss's university credit card, which is what I was told to do, to pay for it.

We had ten documents, ten pieces of paper, blown up to 24" x 36", standard poster size, and mounted on particleboard. Two of each comes out to twenty total.

The lady brings two nice packages, wrapped in paper, and helps me carry them to the car. Then she takes my credit card and says, "The total on that is seven ninety-two ninety."

It takes me a moment to process this. I want desperately to believe that I am not paying $800 for these two packages, but eventually my brain process the numbers and yes, I'm paying $800 for these two packages. (Well, not me really, but the university.)

"Uh, okay," I say stupidly. I had absolutely no idea how much this was going to be. I was even thinking about it on my way over, about the fact that I really had no clue what the total would be, but I was guessing around $200.

Wow. I don't know what our budget is, but I hope the school was expecting an $800 printing bill, because I sure wasn't. We haven't even gotten the photographs enlarged yet. Yikes.

I thought that football was finally over it would quit screwing with the television schedule and my life would be better, but oh no, I forgot about the Pro Bowl.

See, I go to Samantha's apartment each week to watch the X-Files. We usually end up talking for a little while afterward, so I set my VCR to tape the X-Files and The Practice, then come home and wait until 11:00 so I can watch the show from the beginning. This time I sat and gossiped with Samantha until 11:15, so when I got home I didn't have to wait.

I rewind it an hour and hit Play, and dammit, there's Regis.

For like five minutes.

Which means that I don't have the final five minutes of The Practice.

Plus there is a message on my machine from Katherine, who called right after the show was over and left a message about how awesome it was.

It did get far enough so that I found out who did it, but it was basically Lindsay going "It was you...", and then the tape stopped.