Last week was a nightmare for me for all sorts of reasons. For the past three weeks I have been TRYING, and failing miserably, to get out of the house and go on a little adventure to kick off the new season of Catching Marbles but between my body kicking the crap out of me and life distracting me with more important things I have been held hostage here – and if I am to be perfectly honest I am getting super cranky.
Even my attempts to make this place a more enjoyable environment to live in has been met with hostility as chipmunks took out all the plants I lovingly sewed in my garden three days after putting them there. I am -this- close to going to all the local shelters and asking for the biggest, meanest, feral cat they have to offer. You know a vermin slaughtering machine. Usually I am happy to live with and around local wildlife and I don’t care that much if they eat a tomato or pepper here and there but ripping up all my seedlings by the roots before they even get a chance?! COME ON!
I actually spent the whole week cleaning up for the plumber who was coming over the fix our water pressure problem. I stayed up late nights all week plodding along getting everything looking nice and realizing I just didn’t have much energy in me to do so. I would do 15-40 minutes work and be down, repeat over and over. I can see improvement here but I am so fucking sick of this place and cleaning! Then a day before the guy shows up I’m told no, it’s not the plumber, it’s the heating guy. I hauled out the wrong goddamn rooms and was told it was a misunderstanding. NO, you said PLUMBER. That’s not a misunderstanding that’s you giving me the wrong fucking information! So I wore myself down to the bone and when he showed up of course he went into the worst room in the basement, the one I haven’t had a chance to touch since moving in, the one full to the ceiling with stuff and weird smells… I could have died of embarrassment.
And to top the week off my Check Engine light went on and I had to bring Daisy in for a checkup. It was just a rusted out oxygen sensor buuuut I was told she wouldn’t pass inspection in a few months unless I sink a good chunk of cash into fixing her rusted out undercarriage, the part holding in the engine. I was told I didn’t drive her enough so she rotted. I felt like shit because I knew I didn’t drive her enough this winter… I barely left the house in months only leaving to go to the grocery store, Wal-Mart, and the bank. It wasn’t a calculated thing, it was my health. But still I felt like I failed her. Poor Daisy.
So by the end of the week I was an emotional mess. Daisy came into my life at a critical moment and gave me independence and a sense of freedom no one could have. I got my license when I was 23 but I didn’t get a car until I was 31. Until then I had relied on driving other people’s cars (my parents) or having my now ex drive me around. Daisy came to me at a point I had lost EVERYTHING and had nothing left to lose so we rambled and enjoyed a second adolescence in my 30’s. Even then she was kind of moody and the CD player refused to give back the disk so for two years I was stuck blaring Placebo as I sped down the highway sometime going as much as 95 miles an hour. It was cathartic, it was beautiful, and when my rage subsided we found ourselves going adventuring in the most amazing destinations. People would stop me and ask if I was a tattoo artist as they ooed and awed at her art. And when she started locking the doors and trunk at random and refusing to let me in I sort of shrugged it off. Old cars get personality like that and shit, she had a lot of personality! And smell. A moisture issue gave her a distinct aroma of mold and every time I opened her windows to dry her out it’d fucking start raining so it just got worse. Still…. Daisy was there for me waiting for the next little joy ride and I loved her.
By the time I got her she’d already had her transmission replaced and her second one was iffy as fuck. I had to replace it last year. I thought we’d be good for a while but then this winter came and she just rusted and rusted and rusted. I had named her Daisy because I always had this gut feeling that’s what she’d be singing in quick order. As much as I loved the car I couldn’t help but feel even when I got her that she was living on borrowed time. In a fit of superstition I even neglected to finish her full body Sharpie tattoos knowing the last mark I put on her would probably be the death knell. And its in that spirit that I will be spending the next three or four months finishing them and saying good bye. Why bother dolling up an art car that is likely going to be sold as a parts car? I don’t know, I think it’s just part of my grieving process, a sorry for not treating her better. And who knows… maybe by then someone will want her for her uniqueness?
Meanwhile I am stuck with the impossible decision – do I buy another car and risk it also rotting because my health has gone down the crapper or do I just wait it out, make due, and get another one in the spring, a year from now? HMMMM. I don’t have the choice of not having a car. My mother’s car is leased, my step father’s car is used to go to work, and I need my independence. I don’t think I could ever go back to being without a car. Never. It’s way too important to me to give up and take a step back into dependence.
So here I am starting this week already exhausted. I have a garden to replant, several outdoor bunny hutches to build (so I can get everyone outside which will give me a long needed break) and on top of that I desperately need a day outing. But lately I have had one productive day followed by a coma day where I can barely function followed by a third day where I’m kinda half-way with it. This is not conducive to living a normal life and my brain is dying for stimulation and my emotional wellbeing is staggering trying to stay afloat in the midst of severe isolation. I NEED TO GET BACK OUT THERE. Please body, car, Universe, whatever else I need, let me get on with my life!!