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Etched in stone in my destiny... the half-assed plunge into the night. Sounds cryptic enough, that comment. Most of the work week had proven to be the usual cover-your-ass-look-busy-when-you-aren't procedure... a scenario that has been all too status quo for months. Excellent setup for a hair-raising two-hour dash on the darkened highway. Ah, the drama. My incessant bitching on these pages about the stagnant pool that has become my life has served to resurrect the old Chinese proverb about being "careful of what you wish." OK... I'm not talking about covert operations in the middle east, or some earth-shaking life-changing cataclysmic event. Nothing as monstrous as that. But, have my ride screw with me, and all bets are off. Among the million thoughts passing through my grey matter whilst guiding the Swedish timebomb at a snail's pace, was how this upsets the fabric of my existence. I now call it, "Fucked Shui." All said and done, there is no horrible punch line to all of this. But the atmosphere in the cockpit was less than bucolic. Inspired, perhaps, by my double-lifestyle... work in one place, fixed address at another. Tools at one location, parts availability elsewhere. A pittance in the checking account, with the world expected of me. All Work, No Play. Thank God for the stereo. Joining the light-speed stream of midnight traffic with three gears out of four meant keeping the speed down to a manageable pace. Namely, the speed limit... which, of course, nobody honors. Straying from that promised a cylinder-head detonating domino effect. Crawling in the far right lane with a crush of wheeled projectiles cannonballing to my left. Four-cylinder protesting at high-revving pitch. Vibration through the accelerator causing my right foot to go numb. Gasoline consumed at an alarming rate. Midway through the expedition, the fuel gauge needled towards the "E," prompting a detour into the blinding fluorescent blaze of the rest stop for a splash-and-dash. When pulling back onto the cold asphalt strip... all gears were accounted for. As if nothing was ever amiss. Automotive cock-tease. Bad CARma. Pretty anticlimactic, huh? One thing that has to be said for most of my cars, they haven't usually died on me until I've gotten back in the driveway. A definite plus... the downside being that as soon as my feet carry me past the threshold of the front door, all drive escapes me. Probably the reason I'm typing this instead of making phone calls, tramping through junkyards, and taking care of business. Evasion, simply said. Now that I've looked at those words, I've got to self-motivate. Out into the world of grease and cold metal, leaving behind the debris in the kitchen sink from Miss Jane's Jehovah's Witness t�t�-�-t�t�. The myriad things that were left in suspended animation when I left, three days ago. I think I'll first dig into the record collection for some Clash... the newspapers have left me with a compulsion to hear "I'm So Bored With The USA." Very Loud. The rest of the world's gonna love our new administration... lock and load, people! |
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