So I spent most of the day writing and still managed to not get anything posted for the 25th (although technically, it’s still the 25th where I’m at). I’m not gonna say that that takes talent, but it does take a certain smoothness that I find most people lack.
I have no idea what I’m talking about.
So I finally finished my latest story, and I actually have an idea for a new one—might even start writing it tonight, but I promise nothing. Well, one thing I promise is that if you ever eat a deep-fried Smurf you will not regret it. Delicious. Other than that, though, I promise nothing.
So another Sunday, huh? Sheesh. That weekend was over too quick. I’ve been stranded at home all weekend, so even if I had wanted to do something, I couldn’t have.
It all started Saturday morning, when my princess decided to go to her classroom. Sure it’s summer vacation, but she wanted an early start on getting it organized for the coming school year—that’s just the kind of motivated go-getter she is.
I’m just hanging out at home, writing and trying to get rid of the wicked headache that descended upon me from nowhere…and by “nowhere,” what I mean is “the bottom of that whiskey bottle I had polished off the previous night.”
My phone rings. “Hey, it’s me,” she says when I answer. “I was on my way to school this morning, and I remembered that it’s time to get our oil changed.”
“So I took it to the place, and they came out and told me that there’s a major problem with our car.”
“What kind of major problem?”
“Something with the axle, he said. ‘Metal on metal,’ he said, and even I know that’s a bad thing. He said it would probably run around three hundred or three hundred and fifty dollars to fix it.”
“So what was wrong with it?”
“Something with the axle. And leaking fluids. Should I tell him to go ahead and fix it?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, our axle is leaking fluid?”
“Do you want to talk to him?”
“Nah.” I know pretty much dick about cars. I can do the really simple stuff, but once you start talking about axels, I can’t even understand anymore. “Just tell him to go on and do it.”
They give her a ride home, telling her that the car will probably be ready in two hours or so. An hour later, they call. By this time, my headache is so bad that I can barely keep my eyes open. She talks to the guy for a few minutes, sounding more stressed every time she answers him.
“Bad news,” she says after she hangs up.
“I thought so.”
“The part he got from the other place, when he got it he saw that it was already broken. So he went to put our car back together, and saw that chunks of it had already fallen off, so he can’t put it back together.”
“Are you serious?”
“He said it should be ready by Monday or Tuesday.”
I went to sleep after that—between the headache and the bad news, I just didn’t want to think anymore.
I woke up in a much better mindset—no headache for one thing—and decided that it’s better that this happened now rather than next week when I’m trying to finish a nine-hour drive to my home town.
Anyways, so I have to take a cab to work tomorrow, how much does that suck? Like I have to wake up in the morning, and I have to pay for some guy to take me to work. What really blows is that the cab ride there’s actually going to cost more than my hourly wage, so I’ll end up basically working my first hour just to pay for my ride to work.
What a bad way to start the week, you know? It’s not bad enough that I have to go back to work, but now I have to pay someone to do it. What shit.
Anyways, so that’s my Sunday evening—pleasant as always.
Peace out, Li’l Homies.