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I really don�t like the way my Fridays work right now. They really kind of suck. Meeting from 10:30-12, then another from 1-2:30, which generally runs until 3 anyway. Not good. By the time I hit Friday afternoons, I�m feeling homicidal. Or maybe that�s just because I didn�t eat lunch until about 15 minutes ago. That�s also possible.
Someone ended up on my site through another Google search. This one was for pages within Diaryland that contained the words "gained pounds". I�d say it was strange, except that I did write an entry about doing exactly that. But why would someone search for that? I don�t know.
I�m having one of those should�ve-stayed-in-bed days. And I�m cranky and kind-of whiny. Did you notice, Diaryland? Sorry about that.
I had intended to come in here and post the story of the Jordan�s Furniture Incident, but I�m not sure I have it in me today. Perhaps later on this weekend, I�ll post it from home. You�ll just have to check back and see.
Instead, I�m thinking about my car. While I was at my grandmother�s the other day, I was sitting at the table with my mom, my uncle, several of my cousins and the Boyfriend. We were talking about what�s going to happen to various different things that Nana left behind. One of them is her car, a teal green �94 Ford Escort, with a grand total of 17,000 miles on it. The general consensus of the table (minus me) was that the car should go to me. Apparently, I�m at the bottom of the automobile food chain in my family. Might I point out that I�m also the only one who lives in the city?!
Anyway, they all want me to trade up, Supermetro for Ford Escort. I am uneasy about this for several reasons.
1. They�re talking about selling me the car, not giving me the car. Truthfully, I don�t have the money to buy it right now (I�m a little less broke than I was when I started this journal, but not much), and it isn�t a purchase I was planning to make any time soon. I don�t know how much a �94 Ford Escort with 17,000 miles on it is worth, but I�m sure it�s more than I presently have to spend on a new car.
2. I�ve never ended up with a new car before for any reason except that my old car totally shit the bed, and I�ve been okay with that. I have this weird aversion to getting rid of a vehicle that still works. I know--that�s insane. Especially when you consider that the Supermetro has a few engine issues (leaking transmission, leaking radiator), as well as some cosmetic ones (the whole two-color car thing). But I grew up in a house where you didn�t get rid of anything until it had lived out its usefulness to you�you didn�t get a new one just �cause you wanted to, and I think a lot of that has stuck with me over time. And it translates into being hard to part with the car.
3. Beyond all that, I�ve mentioned before my emotional attachment to the Supermetro. The Artboy essentially assembled the car for me. It was his attempt at taking care of me, and it was a very sweet and thoughtful gesture. It�s hard to explain, but all the good stuff from the Artboy�s and my relationship is summed up in that car. Letting go of it is letting go of the Artboy completely. Which should be, I suppose, all the more reason to hand over the keys and drive off in the Nanamobile. I don�t want the Artboy. But I like having the car.
Of course, I emailed him and told him about the car, and asked him flat out what he�d do in my situation. Without going into great detail about #3 on that list, that is. But I wanted to know how he felt about it going away. He emailed me back and said to take the car. Then he told me our friend Luke (whom I absolutely adore, but whom I lost custody of in the Artboy�s and my separation) is looking for a car, and if I decide to get rid of it, he might be interested. The thought of Luke driving it around made it easier to part with the Supermetro. He�d be a big guy in a teensy car, but so was the Artboy, and he survived just fine.
So I suppose if I can afford to acquire the new car, I will. It would be nice to have Nana�s car, like taking her with me wherever I go.
I guess I just needed to look at my reasons on paper and realize they aren�t very substantial. Thanks, diary.
Now I need a cookie.
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