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Monday, Jan. 17, 2005 / 7:26 p.m. ~Boring, Car Stuff, and How Good It Made Me Feel...~ So, today officially sucked. I'd like it to even out a bit, get a little better, but it's not working. Must. Try. Harder. It was cold this morning, cold for here, low 20s, high teens, wind chill just too fucking cold for animals not covered with fur, i.e. me. And I was running... on time. Meaning, no time for any problems, just start the car and go. Quickly. But no. It didn't start right away, yet I went to see "The Incredibles" yesterday, drove on the highway and everything, and it was 'fine', as 'fine' as it ever is. Finally, it started, I revved the engine, and never have I ever let it sit to warm up, as I heard once upon a time that idling is not good for an engine. And well, twenty years later, it's worked for my car. I pulled away from my parking space and the brake light came on. Parking brake disengaged, wasn't that, tapped the brakes, and a whole lot of barely anything happened. I backed all the way up and thought, thought, thought, picturing tow trucks and calls in to work, and missing work, and fuck, fuck, fuck, and tapped the brakes some more, and yanked the parking brake up and let it back down, and decided to go to the car repair shop a hop skip and jump away. It's easy, it's right there. I mean right there. This is not the first time I've sort of rolled over there, once on a flat. They sell tires, and fix cars, and rip people off, and stuff. So, hey, the brake light's on, the brakes aren't working, and hey, how about a tune up and oil change? I figured I've been meaning to get that done, forEVER, and what better time? Lump it all in, a package deal. Special included tire rotation, hey, why not? Then I have to dig my wheel lock key out of the back of the car, and it's under all my recycling that's in there, bags of stuff, and bags of bags, and it's COLD, and my little hands are frozen solid, and I'm feeling sorry for myself, but then I'm determined too, and it's so warm when I go back in, and there is nothing to read but some pile of Sports Illustrated magazines and a Gotham magazine, which is mostly photos of very rich people at parties in New York. Which makes me want to vomit. I try to find words inside, so I can, you know, read, and the repairs take a long time. There is a 'vehicle inspection' in the special too, and I get a report of all that's wrong with my car, and am told how it's all going to fall apart, and if I drive it I will DIE!!! And it will hurt! But it will hurt more to pay for the repairs, some $1,800, knocked down to $1,500 when I say, hey, come on, you should knock that down a bit, and part of me is ready to charge it all, pay it in installments, and let it be all that and MORE with interest, but I get scared, it's too much, I could get a new (used) car for that, and who do I call for help, for advice? Who do I think of, who is going to help me, who do I wish was right there to pull me away, to go buy parts with and go to some warm garage with and fix it ourselves, me handing him tools and such? The object of my affection. Perhaps because he helped me before, perhaps because he is on my mind so often, perhaps because I don't feel so helpless when I turn to him for help, though it hasn't been a lot that I have. I even put the phone up to the repair shop manager's ear, to let him talk to the one who I want to be my knight in shining armor, or rescuer in hiking boots and a good warm shirt, long pants for a change. Don't rip me off, just don't rip me off. Meanwhile, since our cell connection had gone south earlier, I'd phoned the Site Manager at work, the one who'd last tuned my engine, and he tells me brakes, just brakes, skip the rest, it's fluff, we know I need it, the car needs it, but it's extraneous, today it is. So it is. I've cried for help, and two men have done what they could, and a repair shop containing more would seek to rob me blind. Parts are ordered, wrong parts arrive, and I walk home to wait (after three hours of "Barney" and "Sesame Street" on the little TV, and that idiotic excuse for the only magazine there for me to read). COLD! Did I mention it was COLD?! The walk fucking killed me, the hop skip and jump in the car felt like an eternity on foot, an uphill eternity with windchills in the whatevers, we'll say 10, yes, it was 10 degrees with the windchill. And I was miserable. Came home miserable. Got online and drank hot tea miserable, and called to find the parts, the right parts, had JUST gotten there miserable. Meanwhile calling work, calling the supervisor to tell her what's what, and she, seemingly not even caring. Alas, I walked back, the wind at my back, and it wasn't long. I drove away to find the car pulling me to the right, trying to run me off the road, this invisible force, and I drove straight back, said it wasn't like this this morning, this is not how it was at all, and was told that when it went up on the lift gravity had its way with my car's suspension, and sure, sure, just put it how it was! And so they did. One mechanic to lift the fender, some screw in some hole, and there, not clunky anymore, not yanking me to the emergency lane, and I made it to work, totally out of sorts, and in theory, a LOT poorer. New brakes that didn't seem to work, but I was told they have to settle, or whatever it is they do. They seem okay now, but egad. Site Manager looked at the inspection printout, and I told him about the radiator leaking now, and he goes to have a look, says he thinks the mechanic did it, it was purposeful, the two new cracks, to get me to buy a new one, don't ever go back, he says. I feel such a fool. But I'm not gonna get all girly and cry. No, I needed brakes, it's been five years since they were worked on at all, and I have new brakes now (and new plugs, new oil filter and a few quarts oil), and the rest will be taken care of as funds allow... and I'll never forget that mechanic, a Dutchman of all people, telling me, "Your car is very dangerous to drive". I don't want to, drive it, ever now. Long boring story, that. I come home and the heater is blasting, because that is what it does now, since the maintenance dude came and fucked with the blower (er, installed a new one). And he tested it in the 'On' setting, not the 'Auto', but since I can't stand him being in here, and there was that whole pest control, non-pest control fiasco, I don't call to tell them what it does now, but it blows, stops, blows, stops, and the flames are still way lit up, causing it to get REALLY hot inside the furnace and the insulation over the top of it, causing said insulation to come completely untaped, unhinged, and I have wasted so much money on tape to tape it, re-tape it, tape it, ad nauseum, most recently purchasing specific HVAC tape to tape it, and tonight doing just that. A pig fuck day of ripped off car repairs, and handing over credit card to pay for something I can't even afford, and come home to tape this stupid insulation back up and watch it come right untaped as the heater comes on and it gets too hot because the blower starts, stops, starts, stops, and did I mention it's COLD out?!?!? Right. I'm breathing, I am. I'm really okay, I'm just writing, just letting off a little steam. No details about the cost, or what work is needed on my car, just feeling I got ripped off, they cracked my radiator, and now I've got to get that fixed, and I desperately, DESPERATELY want a new car. I'm SO sick of mine, everything on it is broken, or about to be, and when it rains it rains inside the damned thing. But no, I have no money for down payment, and no, I have a blip on my credit report, a rather large one, and it won't go away for another year or so, and so this car is IT for me. But I get all warm and fuzzy when I remember 'him' telling me he wished he could be there to help me. I called him and he answered and he was there, and when our call was disconnected he called back, and I hadn't heard his voice in so long, and it felt sooooo good to hear him, to talk to him, to ask him for help, and for him to really want to help. I want to lean on him, he's the only one I feel that way about, and it feels really good. What does this mean, anything? To want to lean on someone, someone special to me? Me? Is there a part of me that wants to be taken care of, or simply cared for?, and by 'him'? Huge burden there. Must relax that. Now? TV. "24" soon. Relax to some dramatic portrayal of terorrist acts and torture. Ahhhhhh... Cost of the War in Iraq
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