Thursday, Jul. 31, 2003 / 1:33 p.m.

~But It's My Car~

Not only is proximity without intimacy its own version of hell, but listening to Mexican techno on a Walkman, at 9:25 a.m., in an office cubicle, knowing one cannot very well get up and dance, is also hell. But I am languishing in it. Currently, it's Nortec Collective's "The Tijuana Sessions Vol. 1", and as I write that I wonder if there is indeed a Vol. 2. This is one of those albums on which I overdosed not long ago, but long enough ago that it's time to listen to it again, and as I do, well, the body, tired or not, caffeine jazzed for energy, wants to move. I honestly believe I have a 'club kid' inside of me just begging to be let out. Or maybe I do let it out, but not often enough?

Here's my latest obsession, my car. Looks like I may be giving Trouble a ride in it tonight, if all goes well, or not well, because my car is disgusting, and all morning, getting ready for work morning, I mean, I was thinking about why it's disgusting, about what it was like when it was new, my first car (uh oh, started moving my head around, shoulders too, can't help it), after I tired of my mom's old Firebird she left me when she died. My own car, new, sun roof, cassette deck, four speakers, cruise control, lettering on the sides, hah! It came decked out, the last '84 on the lot, December 31, 1984. I took it as is. As was. And I washed it, regularly, I waxed it, I vacuumed the interior, and cleaned the vinyl, used my ArmorAll, and it was squeaky clean. I got under the car and changed my own oil, I got regular maintenance tuneups and tire rotations, and etc., etc.

But come on, it's been 19 years. And I haven't had my own driveway in which to wash and scrub and wax and clean in about 8 years. The last time my car was washed was when a coworker's boyfriend took pity on it whilst changing the fuel filter for me, four years ago. Yeah, I know. The putrefaction splashing/spewing incident a few days ago really sealed it for me, and all last weekend I intended to deal with it, but I drove past so many full serve car washes simply not knowing how they work, how much they cost, if I'm expected to tip, and feeling so sorry for those poor people out sweating in the sun, or even shade, scrubbing and buffing other people's cars, thinking it was like slave labor, and I couldn't possibly participate in that, I could do it myself, but where?, how?

It's so simple, isn't it? But for me, as usual overthinking, it's far too complex. And now I've got a passenger. She'll have to understand. It's too late. But I do fantasize, I can see me cleaning it, I can see me laying down some fancy new floor mats from one of the mail order catalogs I have at home, something with flowers, or Native American zig zags, and a seat cover for the driver's seat, to cover up the torn/worn vinyl on the side. Cleaning all the cloth on the seats, and using that wonderful ArmorAll (I must be spelling it wrong) and the wonderful RainDance stuff that takes off all the black specks on the white paint. Insert a big SIGH right here.

Here's part of the overthinking process for a perfectionist/procrastinator, I think if I'm going to go to all that trouble for my stupid car, I ought to instead be going to all that trouble for my library, dusting all my books, or dusting my bedroom, or cleaning out my closet. Therefore, nothing gets done.

And I'm stuck in this cubicle, wanting to dance, wanting to clean my car, wanting to live. Only 8 more hours to go.

*Later� It's 12:10 now, the 12:00 people have gone to lunch, leaving the 1:00 people behind, my work is done, the phones have slowed (dangerous to admit that, a 'jinx' of sorts - can you believe this is my job?), and I wanted to add that I switched my calendars to August earlier. I have three hanging and one 'year at a glance' (that one, upon which I mark off the days, prison or washed up on deserted island style), and one of the three hanging is a small Jack Russell Terrier Puppies calendar. August's picture cracks me up. Jack Russells are so funny looking! These two, in August's picture, have these black lines for mouths, just solid black horizontal lines, and it looks so funny - plus, the one has bags under his eyes, which is always funny on an animal. Gladys had bags when she was a kitten - I have photos to prove it.

And Q seems positively jealous every time I run over to Jane's cubicle to talk about menstruating, or sex or something. Q is in her 50s, had a hysterectomy after her first and only child, and she's Deep South, Jane is from my family's home, up north, well, midwest. Jane is my age, or a year younger, never married, no kids, we can relate. But I go to talk to her, to tell her whatever, or to bitch about phone calls, and Q just positively sulks, you can see it. Huh. When we've been outside of here, outside on a break, us three, the other day, or at lunch on Jane's birthday, Q won't even make eye contact with me. She gets really quiet and acts completely uncomfortable. What is up with that? And if she does interject, it's to say something pissy and negative. When Kukla, Q and I went to my favorite bistro, where I hope to meet Trouble tonight, Q sat with her hands in her lap, pooh poohing the food choices (what, no fried pork chops, cabbage and green beans?), being rude to our cute foreign waitress (where was she from? Lapland or someplace?), and just seemingly sullen and awkward. Strange, huh? Yeah, I think so too. I mean, I leave here and come alive! Outside of work I am who I really am, I swear and wear no underwear and I pull my hair up and I'm FREE. But Q is stilted and strange.

Ohh, another example, this just happened - I was showing Jane something on my PC, something work related, we both had our phones off so I could show her how someone here changed some poor kid's address from Montana to Alabama, totally erroneously, and Q says, "Phones are ringin'!!", not because they were, but because she couldn't STAND that Jane and I were in the midst of a confab. I told her, "I'm showing Jane something, business related!" Women. Who needs 'em?

Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)

Run, Kitty, Run!

Previous - Next

New - 2012 - 2009 - 2008 - 2007 - 2006 - 2005 - 2004 - 2003 - 2002 - 2001 - Profile - Contact - Notes - Rings - Diaryland - Favourite Entries - ReadMe - Surveys - Random Entry

Recent Entries:

It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012

Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012

As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009

I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009

Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009

Happy Kitty

My Diary Was Reviewed at Ms Lovejoy's - Get Yours Reviewed Too!

Registered I was a nominee