9
Medallions and Musings
Dragging myself out of bed at just a little past six-thirty took a supreme effort of will, but I told myself that all progress required sacrifice and I needed to suck it up. Archie was not thrilled with me for blasting my hair dryer at the ungodly hour of seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, and watched with a jaundiced eye as I applied eye liner with far more care than I usually did.
“Hot date?” he asked sourly.
I wondered where he’d heard that term. Most of the time, his language was almost too formal, making him sound like a fussy history professor I’d had at Cal State Northridge who always wore tweed jackets, even if it was ninety degrees outside. I’d dropped out after my second year, realizing that college wasn’t my true path, but some things had stuck with
