Broke Down Days
I woke up late with an ache in my neck and shoulders yesterday morning. Maybe it was the stress of moving, having trouble falling asleep on time, or the three furry stooges of Witchcastle all going stir crazy because the humans were finally trying to sleep.
It doesn’t really matter why, it just meant I got a late start on things.
I picked up my alligator-print brick of a suitcase, a box of canned caffeine for the week and headed out the door. I got everything packed in and strapped down for a half hour drive in my progressively unreliable dodge before I realized I’d left my phone inside.
I slipped back in to sweep that up, ran back out. I slipped a key into a slot, gave it a twist, and nothing. No engine. No power. Just the little dull thud of a key.
Instead of going to work and earning, I stayed home and had an extended weekend looking for new apartments, watching fresh crap on Netflix and working on my writing.
My car was ready this morning. I bribed my comatose ex with a fresh pot of coffee and we started the adventure to recover four wheels and an engine. So what stranded me at home yesterday?
It wasn’t the engine. It wasn’t the starter, or the battery. It was a battery connector.
A length of wire cost me $75 in wages and another $75 in labor. Sometimes life doesn’t follow the plan. Sometimes she stomps your face in just for the audacity of making one.
It’s ok though. The house has AC, internet, Netflix, and privacy. If you’re going to get stranded, do it at home and make the time count. After all, jacking off in public is ill advised.
