A Whole Lotta Breaking

This summer has been the opposite of relaxing. I have somehow stumbled into five jobs. Yes. Five. I don't know how it happened, but now I grace the grocery store, the college, the local office for the aging, and the animal hospital with my occasional presence. (So, I said five and then listed four jobs. Can I count or what? The fifth job is various pet-sitting adventures.) They pay me for my appearances and a bit of work though, so it's okay. This has also been the summer of everything breaking. Into 10,000 pieces. And it feels like it costs that much too. My tooth needed a root canal. The same day as I had that checked out, the muffler went on my ol' Betsy (who is neither old, nor named Betsy). I drove to my mechanic in tears, mom in tow. He was jovial. He asked me what was wrong. With tears in my eyes I told him it sounded like I was piloting a dragon. He laughed and told me not to cry over cars and slid under the car. He came back out and wiped his hands on his jeans. He told me that the muffler came loose. We left it there to be fixed.

I seriously need to make that man and his crew some cupcakes. Mostly because about two weeks ago I was late to the animal hospital (set my alarm for pm, because I'm brilliant like that) and so when I roared in the parking lot I parked nose in and then thought I'd like to be backed in instead. I pressed the brake and pulled the shifter. It didn't budge. I pressed the brake harder because it has been known to grumble about coming out of park especially on an decline (I was parked nose down). It didn't work. I sighed, turned off the car and marched into the hospital, determined not to cry. I did anyway. I didn't even get two feet into the building when my poker face cracked. My coworker asked me what was wrong. I told him. He patted my back and went out to the parking lot with me, but he couldn't get it either.

What ensued was a long day of research about not shifting (a common problem in my car's make & model) and how to fix it, along with a call to my aforementioned mechanic, and to my grandmother for the number of triple A. One of the receptionists called her landlord who came with his truck and chains and tried to get enough pressure off the front of the car that the shift lock would let us shift. No dice.

My mechanic ended up driving about forty miles out of his way, taking time away from his family to help me. I can't tell you how much it means to me he was willing to do that. He ended up staying about an hour rigging the shift so I could actually shift the thing and get it to his shop. I'm just so damn grateful.

I hate to say it, but so far those three things (root canal, car breaking x2) have been the most traumatic parts of summer. It could be so much worse, so I'm not complaining. The weather has been beautiful with stunning days and rainy evenings, I've been able to keep on top of the laundry, and there's a good chance I get to have an apartment this upcoming semester... with Sawyer and Nova.

And so, despite everything, life is good friends.

Until next time,