the song of the temporary car

My temporary car sings me soothing songs of welcome when I get into it and when I turn it off, it caresses me with a few chords of farewell.  It is huge, with a cavernous trunk and four doors.  The rear-view mirror is magically treated to prevent glare from sun or high beam behind one.  It has digital readouts of the temperature inside and outside.  There are lots of numbers displayed.  The radio is touch screen activated.  It has power everything; I am careful not to accidentally hit any buttons or knobs or levers because I have no idea what they will do.  (One of them is probably a seat ejection button.)  The temporary car is quiet and smooth.  It accelerates and breaks with no stomping required.  It does not even have keys.  It has no rust of dings from impolite other people's doors.  Did I mention that the trunk could comfortably sleep at least 3?  They give you these courtesy cars at the dealership to tempt you with luxury.  Don't you want a better car than the broken one you are bringing in to be fixed? they ask with soothing siren songs.  Don't you want this car?  And I say No.  I can't even figure out how to work the air.  I don't care about or need all the fancy knobs and levers and numbers.  And if I got knocked off a bridge into the water, and the electrical system shorted out, I would die trapped in this fancy temporary car tomb.  No, I don't really want this car.  I thank god for my low-tech car.  Yes, my cheap little car has two spots of rust on it (curse you, hail storm), and driving it is a small wrestling match, and it hurts to roll down the windows, and it has been mercilessly dinged by other cars in parking lot battles, but the 6-year-old I took to see Peter Pan said the seat-belt buckling chime sounded like Tinkerbell, and this car is mine until death do us part, and luxury has never tempted me away from practicality.  (Also, I know that my little car has no eject button and that if I end up in the water, I can crank and open my way out to safety.)  My car is my own, and I will not be tempted away by another.

why old people turn their cars so slowly

I think I am finding out why old people turn their cars so slowly.  If they're anything like me, and they are tearing at the seams, a hard or even moderately fast turn--especially over a jouncing entry point not on the level with the street--changes the vectors or shifts the inertia or some other science-y force-related thing, and it puts pressure on joints that can no longer bear pressure without complaint.  So if you are ever feeling irritated at elderly people taking their sweet time making that turn off the street at 2 miles per hour, have some sympathy for the irritation their joints feel even at that slow crawl.

driving in a winter wonderland . . .

when it comes to driving
walking in a winter wonderland
is better

my battery is drained

Today's exhaustion is brought to you by the car battery.  Last summer when it kept dying, I took it in, and they said there was nothing wrong with the battery or the alternator.  And then it behaved itself.  Until a couple of weeks ago.  And then today.  When it ceased working 3 times.  Good thing I didn't have to be anywhere until 3.  Since I couldn't get there until 4 . . .  And my groceries are probably spoiled now (though I didn't open them just in case they're okay).  But at least I could get a loaner car today instead of having to get the dumb thing jumped two more times today and then at 6:30 tomorrow morning.

Dear Hyundai,

Your customer service people are quite nice.  Your emergency roadside support people are also quite nice.  My experience with your cars is, well, not.

• Tires that die after less than 4 years (my last car's tires were still going strong at 6+ years).  
• A battery that dies every summer.  
• Maintenance costs I was told would be covered by the warranty that aren't.

I don't think I'll be a repeat customer.  Raaaaaaaaarrrr.

Signed,
Me

Siiiiiighhhhhhh.

at least the license plate is laughing

.

sometimes what
you need to
make it through
is to follow
a car with the
license plate
TEE HEE
to work

.

The mistake I made yesterday

The mistake I made
was to wave goodbye to a
friend with my left hand.

Blooming hard

.
hard to drive inside
the lines with trees exploding

like silent fireworks

.

a reason to take the bus

the problem with driving when it's windy
and the sun's going down is not

that your car gets buffeted around
making the drive white-knuckled or

that the light blinds you but that you can't
watch the clouds burning their way

across the sky because you are in the driver's
seat and you can't just stare at the clouds

Forget You when It's Raining Men

It's time for the week when the radio station begs for donations!  This week is also known as time for me to listen to other radio stations because I already give my radio station money, and they don't play cool and unusual music during begging time.  So, other radio stations.

Heard a hilarious song this morning: Cee Lo Green sang "Forget You," and it made traffic quite bearable.  Just make sure you go looking for the "clean" version, which, in my opinion is way funnier than the unedited version could be.  Swear words would just limit my enjoyment of this ridiculous break-up song.

Also, for the third begging for donation period in a row, I heard "It's Raining Men."  Why?  It's eerie that this seems to happen every time . . .

Heard any good songs or groups lately?

U-turns/Life

The kind of day when
you miss your exit by miles
and then turn around.

Billboards and signs that make me laugh

• "Buy 1 chicken, get 1 free!"  (Fast food restaurant sign)  I really want to find a willing and gullible child, so I can tape the little one going in and asking how much it costs to get the free chicken and whether it's a hen or a rooster.
• "'Crouch without the Ouch' Ballroom Jeans" (Billboard for a clothing company that always has funny advertisements).  I snort every time I see this one.  It's just . . . well, I think it's funny.

Seen any good advertisements lately?

Roads not there

There is massive construction on the only road that leads away from my apartment.  Massive.  The location of the actual road changes weekly, sometimes daily.  Sometimes it's closed completely.  They're rebuilding the bridge over the highway, so the location of the exits changes frequently, too.  Right now, one is at an impossible angle, and I saw a miracle: a semi perched on the embankment after failing to make an impossible left turn onto the ramp.  A couple more feet, and it would have crashed onto the highway below.

Before the snow came, people drove like idiots even when things were clearishly marked by signs and lane painting and orange barrels.  Now that the snow is here and sometimes covers the road, I am not going to be taking that road anymore.  There are far too many idiots out there with drivers' licenses, and I don't want to meet them.

Sorry, Frost.  :)

Why I like my physical therapist

The physical therapist looked back at the last two months of therapy and then said, apologetically, "If it were anyone else, after two months of therapy, most people would be at close to 100%.  But, since you're you, I'd give it another 8 months or so."

I looked at him mournfully and said, "You're supposed to say, 'Since you're special', not 'since you're you.'"

He laughed.  He's a good audience, as I have mentioned before.  It's not that he's unsympathetic; it's just that he's limped down this long road before.  Last time, he eventually gave up, but I kept doing his exercises, and, after 3 times the amount of time it would take for a normal human to be over a flareup of plantar fasciitis, I wasn't limping all the time.  From the PF, anyway.

There is something to be said about working with a therapist who knows how screwed up my body is right now: it's very nice.  "Your body just doesn't know how to fix itself right now," he said.  There is no frustration on his part with how slow my progress is even though I'm doing the ^*#&ing exercises.  (That means I don't have to sense his frustration and get more desperate or wonder if he believes me about doing the ^*#&ing exercises.)

Why I like my physical therapist:

• No false sympathy.  When I first started, he told me to do as many of this particular exercise as I could before the pain made me stop.  I think I did 4.  I asked him how many I should be able to do, and he said, "Normally, people can do 30 at a time.  2 sets of 30.  I can see why you have a problem tossing beanbags with that hip.  It's kind of pathetic."  Ahhhhh, refreshing.  I also can't lawn bowl, but at least I was smart enough not to try after the Bean Bag Incident.
• No false projections of how fast I should be able to do these things.  What he said after the first visit.  "I think you can get back to close to 100%.  It's going to take a long time, but you'll get better."  When I asked him his definition of a long time, he said without hesitating, "10 months."  What he said about the newest exercise: "2 sets of 20 is a goal.  That you should reach for."  ("Not that you should die for" was implied.)  I can sometimes do 30 of the first exercise; sometimes I can only do 12.  After 2 months.  Seriously.
• Real concern.  Since he knows this is my life, sees how exhausted I am, and has heard what I'm up against, he does what he can.  Last time, he tried to understand the neurological chronic pain thing because he wanted so much for there to be something that could be done.  (He may also have just agreed that I am a menace behind the wheel when I haven't had any sleep and hoped there was an alternative.)
• Not worrying about depression.  It's nice to have one health care professional (or just one adult, really) in my life who isn't waiting for me to get depressed.  Or maybe worried about me getting depressed would be a better way to phrase it.  I mean, not that I blame the others; there are plenty of reasons for me to get depressed.  I just don't have time.  My PT is a man who understands pain and gallows humor and doesn't get all Concerned. 
• I can almost always make him laugh.  The power.  I really need to not do that when he's twisting me into pretzel shapes to get my hips back into alignment.  He could break me one of these times, and I'd feel bad if I made him do that . . .

"You're kind of a mess," he said.  "When some things are too tight, some are too loose, some are too strong, and others are too weak, it's just a big mess.  But we will sort everything out.  Eventually."

I believe him.

Things I could watch for hours from inside

• clouds
• snow falling
• ice forming on a lake
• a dog and master romping in the snow
• tree branches giving up their burdens of snow when they try to carry too much

Things that hurt

Not sleeping
Getting up
Getting dressed
Driving to work
Work
Writing
Typing
Washing my hands
Drying my hands
Turning pages
Holding anything
Wearing gloves
Driving home from work
Getting a glass of water
Drinking a glass of water
Getting undressed
Lying in bed
Not sleeping

What I learned the day I visited the doctor's office

• Road rage is good for me.  It seems to get my blood pressure up to something more normal and lower my usually ridiculous heart rate.  Who knew my contrariness went that far.  Go figure.
• Book binges make my hip hurt, and I don't care.
• Despite all my problems, I am darn healthy for someone in my situation.
• Apparently, I strike the nurse as someone who would be a good teacher.  This makes me happy.

Drive with us (verrrrryyy slooooooowlyyy)

On the river parkway, I saw a raccoon trying desperately to stuff itself down a storm drain to avoid the early evening traffic "speeding" toward it.  I was part of a parade at the time, you know, the sort where one car's driver sees the 25 miles per hour speed limit sign and becomes convinced that if he or she approaches within 10 miles of the speed limit (as in, 15 m.p.h), his or her car will explode or be strafed by speeding cop firebombs or suddenly find that part of the road turns 90 degrees or something.

I started humming the theme song to The Racoons.  Did they ever release that cartoon on DVD?  Yes, yes they did, and I am not going to pay that much for a used copy, holy moly.  Maybe this is a job for Netflix.

It had the most ridiculous and awesome ending theme song.  It was called "Run with Us."  I bet the raccoon could have run with us and kept up.  It really had nothing to fear as we all drove at a leisurely pace all along the river road for five miles, trapped behind the parade leader, unable to get to our destinations by any alternate route.

At least it wasn't a bicycle rider this time.

See?  I can think positive.  :)

My crazy bunny is still alive!

I saw it for the third time: my crazy little bunny.  (It may not even be the same one, but how many weird little bunnies could there be in that small area?)  It was once again darting out in broad daylight near rush hour traffic. 

The first time I saw him, I was sitting in the afternoon rush waiting to get onto a highway.  A tiny creature crawled out onto the sidewalk and promptly fell over.  It was kind of like a kitten wanting to play, only it was a rabbit, there was no one there to play with it, it was broad daylight, and wild bunnies don't usually do that.

The week after that, I was exiting that same highway, and the dumb critter ran out onto the ramp and hopped around a bit through the morning rush hour traffic before staggering off into the brush again.

Someone suggested distemper or perhaps a nice supply of fermenting fruit somewhere . . .

Anyway, I worry about the poor, strange little thing.  It's nice to see that (somehow) it's still alive.

Why my mom doesn't like it that I live in the big city

Today, for the first time, I was menaced with a gun. It was hours ago, but I'm still kind of jittery.

It happened at one of my least favorite kinds of traffic nightmares in the city, where an access road that feeds onto an interstate intersects with the interstate exit less than 100 yards from a stoplight where, if you're on the access road and you need to turn left, you have to get across several lanes in a very short time, and it's particularly trying during rush hour.

I let a couple of slightly hysterical drivers getting off the interstate go ahead of me to get over to the right lane, which left me with even less space to get over to the left, so I was going to go for it when I saw a motorcycle flying up the exit ramp. He nearly ran into me, but we avoided a collision because I was paying attention and God was watching over me (and if there are guardian angels, I really hope mine gets some sort of hazard bonus or a lot of vacation time).

I obligingly stopped, so he could get over, since he seemed in much more of a hurry than I was, and he was kind of wild and scary looking with his longish, matted ginger, helmet-less hair blown all over the place. He pulled his motorcycle to within inches of my left front bumper, blocking my exit, and pulled back his vest slowly, deliberately, and a tad theatrically to show me that he had a gun and he was not afraid to use it.

We sat like this for several moments while he glared at me and basked in whatever feeling of power it gave him to threaten a lone woman in a car with a gun for causing him to pay attention and slow down a bit before he remembered that he had somewhere to be in a hurry and pulled away.  I was not particularly comforted by the fact that there was a police station three blocks away. Obviously that fact didn't bother him.

It was kind of scary. I thank God it wasn't any worse.

I'm afraid I may be even less favorably inclined towards motorcyclists now. My apologies to those of you who drive sanely and are law-abiding citizens who don't threaten people with guns.

On a more positive note, the great book migration is mostly over, and we should once again be back to regularly scheduled blog posting here every Tuesday and Saturday.

A productive weekend by the numbers

I had a nice holiday weekend.  I really like the sound of that.  I got paid for not being at work.  It's kind of novel, and I plan to enjoy how much laundry I was able to 1) get done and 2) afford to do.  It's the simple things in life.

Also this weekend:

• 0 mosquito bites
• 1 dead computer resurrected but broken in the process
• 1 afternoon in a pool floating around doing absolutely nothing (okay, maybe talking a bit of literature, but that was it)
• 1 ouchie on my elbow from the edge of the pool (which = 0 short sleeved shirts for the next couple of weeks, somehow)
• 1 eagle spotted from the car
• 1 reorganized house plan
• 1 blue screen of death
• 1 baby who did not get sick after being around me
• 1 good friend who just moved to the area to kibbitz with
• 2 new charities I can afford to give to so far
• 2 lovely, sprawling gardens to rest in
• 2 kind families who invited me over for a day even though they don't know me from Adam
• 3 discs of MacGyver season one playing in the background while I worked on my budget and tried to catch up on weeks of dead computer email
• 3 essay ideas I'm drafting
• 4 episodes of Chuck playing in the background while I cleaned and organized things
• 5 more clearance items on ridiculous sale, hopefully fulfilling my shopping quotient for the next couple of years
• 5 hours driving in the car
• 6 ancient pairs of shoes I will give to charity because I can't wear them with my smashed foot ('04)
• 7 pairs of shoes that died years ago (some back in the early 90s) that I hung onto for sentimental reasons despite the holes and my inability to wear them because of my smashed foot 
• 8 books read (all manga)
• X loads of laundry (I should go get that last one out before I forget)
• (approximately) 25 times I almost drove off the road due to gawking at the landscape
• 1 partridge in a pear tree (not really)

Ahhhhh, refreshing.