Writing is a journey, not a destination.

Search This Blog

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Diluting the Drama

Last night I dreamed I sat in the passenger side of a driverless car speeding through traffic during a supercell thunderstorm and couldn't free my feet to reach the brake pedal.

My brain is telling me something.

I don't want to finish Day Three of the van drama. I come off looking all rational and whatnot, but the fact remains, I'm a mess. Part of it, I think, is a depression that's been building for some time and has chosen this stress moment to truly erupt.

I am in the one place I strive never to be: at the mess-end of a big-assed mistake with no idea how to correct it.

What do I do? Do I spend another $60 to try the "fix" my boss found for the van? That seems rational, until it doesn't work and I'm stranded somewhere worse than my driveway. It also doesn't take into account the PTSD reaction that worsens every time I get into the van. I don't know what has to happen for me to overcome that white-gripped adrenaline rush that has me creeping through the parking garage at 2 mph or parking in the back 40 at the store so the tow truck will have access. I guess if it is fixed and I can't "get over it," I can then sell it with a clear conscience. If it isn't fixed, I'm only $60 poorer.

Do I spend $5K to rebuild the Suzuki engine? This is stupid, I've been told by six men, except I've already been $5K worth of stupid trying something else that six men recommended. I don't have that many $5K mistake cards to play. At least I know the Suzuki. It also leaves me with the unreliable van that my conscience says I should sell to a scrap yard so it doesn't crush the hopes and dreams of the next idiot who doesn't understand what it means to buy a used car.

Do I trade in both vehicles and spend X amount of dollars on a completely different car with a completely different set of problems? I don't mind this solution, except I'm back at square one with "what am I looking for" with the only answer now being "something that runs." I don't even have the option "whatever God wants me to have," because it still appears crystal clear that God wanted me to have Lavender Squeak and that's the thought that has tipped me over the edge so I don't think about it anymore.

Whatever option I choose will be wrong. This should take the pressure off, but if you understand how concerned as I am about doing the "right" thing all the time, it just makes me want to lie down and let the Matmos drown me. 

I'm willing to hear opinions on this. I am completely out of my depth and so far what I've gotten for advice are terse "act like a grown-up and deal with it" pronouncements or pitying "wow, that's a problem" condolences. Please stop assuming I can see whatever path is so brilliantly lit to your eyes. I've never been here before. I don't know what "act like a grown-up" means in this context, or I would be doing it. 

And, frankly, the next person who tells me "it's Satan" is gonna get bitch-slapped. Satan can't do anything God doesn't allow, so let's put the power where it belongs, shall we? It's the only way I'm going to find a real answer to why this is happening to me, even if it's as stupid as "it was time."

Huh. Maybe that's the reason. I think I could live with that.

1 comment:

  1. OK, I asked Car Guy Husband, and, well, first of all, when I said "minivan with an electrical problem" he immediately said, "It's a Chrysler, isn't it?" I think that alone says a good bit.

    His recommendation: Sell both, and subscribe to Consumer Reports to see what used cars they recommend for your price range.

    I do have to say, "I'm sorry." I HATE car shopping--as Car Guy Husband can attest. I'm not sure what I'd do without him. I leave it up to him to look at make and model, prices, etc. and narrow the choices, then I get in during the test drive and give thumbs up or down. If I could send him your way so he could do that for you, I would!


Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.