Commander Shepard is always relevant.
This Saturday morning, instead of being a contributing member of society and spending my sparing, but still hard-earned money on services and goods rendered that would help the economy, I’m rendered to a miserable, spiteful, cauldron of hatred, sitting outside of a Starbucks brogging angrily.
I hate to base an entire year off of a recent string of bad luck, events, and happenstance, but if this week is any indication of what the rest of 2010 has in store for me, I think I’d be better off jumping off Old Rag’s summit next weekend when I have the chance.
So my car’s been having some drivetrain problems, and I’m guessing it’s probably a bad wheel bearing(s), and god forbid, and/or boots or ball joints. Despite the fact that I’m not working with any regularity and my funds are dwindling hard, I still resign to the fact that these are problems that need to be nipped sooner rather than later, lest they get worse to where I can’t drive my car at all.
I’m not blaming others. Because it is my fault, because I’m fully aware of the circumstances here, but it doesn’t make me any less irritated by it, but why in the fuck do auto mechanics see it fit to work hours that a majority of the working world doesn’t consider? 6-7am to 3-4pm? Why? I arrived to the the place I wanted to get my car looked at, and possibly serviced, at 9:30, and the parking lot was about as packed as a Chic-Fil-A at a lunch rush, but I knew I still had to ask, and to no surprised, confirmed that they were indeed slammed, and that there was no way they would even get a chance to look and diagnose my car, much less actually do anything to it.
As I said, it’s my own fault; in the past, whenever I wanted an oil change, I would get up at 7:30 or something, and go get my oil changed. But I don’t know what I was thinking the night prior. Maybe it’s because I worked my first 40+ hour work week since January that I decided to get a little overzealous with the staying up, to catch up on a few things I’d DVR’d throughout the last two weeks. So at the end of this debacle, my car remains unfixed, and will likely remain so until as soon as Tuesday.
Knowing this recent stretch of bad fortune, I just know that come Monday afternoon, I’ll find out about some gig opportunity or D-land will need me some more, that I’ll be put in the proverbial handcuffs of deciding whether to fix my car, or make money, which I already know which I’ll choose, to which will be the time that my car does actually break, while I’m out in like fucking Marietta or something.
Not wanting to make a total wash of my morning, I decide to go get my haircut, since I’m beginning to feel a lot like Chewbacca these days. The lady I used to get my hair cut from the last few years, well, she’s apparently been phased out of the place she was working at, because her formerly convenient Saturday hours were eliminated, and she was relegated to like Wednesdays or something. Regardless, I was pleased with a fallback plan back prior to Varentine’s Day, and decided to give it another shot, only to find out that she’s apparently the most requested hair person in like the entire region, and she suggested to me that I come back, on Tuesday. Fuckin’ figures.
But maybe it’s the coffee talking, or the fact that shitty events aside, it is a gorgeous day today, and I am feeling a tad more mellow having written all this shit out.
Man, I could really use some good fortune in coming days. I do not deal with a lot of duress these days to begin with, and what may seem like run-of-the-mill chaos to some, still royally sucks for me.
