Sitting at the Shop ... June 29

I cried for a little while when I got home last night. i just felt sad all day. Probably some of it was just hormones - god it's great to be a girl! Most of it was just that my heart hurt. I cried over my brother; I cried because I felt alone; I cried because I felt pathetic for feeling alone. I cried because I felt pathetic for crying. blah blah blah

Anyway, I'm better at the moment. I am sitting at Modica Bros. in Nederland waiting for my car get all doctored up: oil & filter change, new windshield wipers, back-right tire patched/possibly replaced, tires rotated & balanced/possible alignment, and a tune-up. Yeah, I'm going to be here for awhile. I brought a book to read, but obviously I'm writing this instead. Um... so now what do I say? It's not that I don't have plenty spinning around in my head, I just don't know where to start. So much to choose from. Hmm.... Oh, the mechanic just came by and gave me an estimate for everything: approximately $350 and 3 hours. Buckle up kiddos.

Maybe I should just say a bunch of random meaningless crap and then my brain will focus on what it finds important for the day. Alright... I just realized that there's gum stuck to the bottom of my left shoe. The seat I'm sitting in is not so comfortable. My legs are short but still the seat's not long enough to properly support them. Arg! Let's see... I started a drawing 2 weeks ago for my Dad's Father's Day gift - it's not finished and Father's Day was a week ago. I'm a jerk. I got stuck on it, what can I say? It's a white stallion. I've never drawn a horse before, not one that wasn't cartoonish anyway & I wanted this one to look real. That's usually my drawing style - more lifelike. I told him about all this and he understood - no hard feelings. I think he appreciates the fact that I'm putting some real thought/time into it rather than just shoving a gift card or something at him. At least I hope so. Still, I feel like a jerk.

I saw my brother at Christmas then on Mother's Day at my grandma's. Since then not at all. I talked to him once between those times but nothing since. Well, unless you count my texting him every couple of days for 2 weeks and hearing nothing back. That was in the middle of May and only because my Mom told me he'd left his addict Bitch of a wife and moved an hour away but no one had heard from him since. He did finally text me back once to say, "love you. thanks for having the guts to tell me what I need to hear". That was it. Nothing else. Nothing since.

Yeah, whatever. Man, you've lived less than 10 mins away from me for the last 10 years and I maybe see or hear from you like 4 times a year. I'm feeling the love. Damn pill-head! I can't hate him though. He's got demons of his own. He deals with them the only way he knows how I suppose. For that - because I know - I can forgive him. I won't go into his torments though because he wouldn't want me to and dammit as much as I try not to I love him. Well, it's not that I try not to love him. Just that I have to shut him out 'cause it hurts too much to think about who he's become and who he could be and how he left me. ... moving on. What makes me hate him though is not because of me but because he has 3 little girls. Twins who are almost 7 and a 3 yr old. They don't deserve this crap. For all the bullshit their parents have put them through, I've never met sweeter kids. I'm not just being a biased aunt here, they really are just really good girls. God is mean - if he exists. I don't know anymore.

I write slow. It's hot in here. They have the door to the outside open for some insane reason 'cause the A.C. is blasting. Not gonna help fellas if you just let the southeast TX heatwave outside suck it all into the blistering atmosphere. People are retarded and strange. My hand hurts. I am listening to a mixed playlist: Everclear, The White Stripes, Nirvana, We Were Wolves, and A Fine Frenzy (just to throw in a little estrogen).

Oh, Michael Jackson died last Thursday, the 25th, and just a few hours after Farrah Fawcett lost her battle with cancer. Poor woman. Overshadowed even in death.... and now here apparently also. The King of Pop was 50 yrs old. They said this morning that he was only 110 pounds, had nothing but half-dissolved pills in his stomach and had little more hair on his head than some sparse black peach fuzz. He wore a wig. Go figure. He was an odd one. Still, he was a musical icon. Bat-shit crazy but I think his intentions were good.

The mechanic just came back again. He told me that my tires (all 4 of them) are over 5 yrs old. I asked him what that meant to me and he basically told me if I didn't replace them "immediately" I was risking dying in a freak auto accident soon ... then chuckled. As if that was funny. Great, now it's going to be an additional 2 hours and $300 - but it includes road hazard ma'am. Wonderful. It also includes next month's car payment you buttface. Damn! Life is expensive.

I just called my dad. He happened to be 5 mins away and has the day off. How convenient! Now at least I can hang out at my parents' house while my car is in surgery rather than in this lovely oven of a waiting room. I feel incredibly sarcastic now. I came in here all cheerful and optimistic and now these overly friendly men in these greasy coveralls are my sworn enemies (yet of course I cannot tell them this or they will further break my vehicle) Instead I smile as I leave. "Bye. Thanks. Call me on my cel if anything comes up." (jerkface douchebags -ripping me off 'cause you know I'm a girl who has no clue about cars - a plague on both your houses!