I skipped and tripped out of work last night, preparing myself for Fat Burger. Thoughts of the evening's playwriting workshop danced in my head... I stuck my key in the ignition, turned it forward, nothing happened. I smiled. I did it again. Nothing. I started laughing.
I called BF. He showed up and gave me a jump start. The engine stayed on -- as long as I gave it lots of gas. But if, by chance, I removed the key from the ignition, the car would not, could not start again. Not without another jump start.
We managed to get it home, and this morning I called the dealer. You remember, the dealer who fixed it just last Thursday? And charged me $470 for the pleasure? Yes well, now the problem was worse. How can I tell? Cuzthecarwontfuckingstartmuthafucker.
It's only a '98 and not hard used. These are problems it should not have.
With an early morning jump start, I drove the car to the dealer. Leaving the freeway, the "Low Fuel" light came on and the whole mess lurched forward. It wasn't fooling me; I filled the tank two days ago. I prayed to whatever out there might be listening. "Please please please let me help me don't stall not here." On and on.
I pulled up to the Service kiosk and I said to the first guy, "Is this where you want me to park? Because when I turn it off, it won't start again." The man chuckled, but I had the last laugh.
So now I'm waiting for the Service department to call me back and give me numbers.
I'm also waiting for my doctor's appointment. It's in 45 minutes. That lump on the side of my neck? Swollen lymph nodes. Painful, swollen lymph nodes. In the last week, I've taken as many as four different pills a day. I'm not doing that anymore. It's not helping.
On a positive note, "Team America: World Police" is fan-fucking-tastic, albeit, not everybody's cup o'tea. The sets and the puppets were amazing. I laughed and laughed.
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