Ol’Rubes is getting long in the tooth. At least for a truck she is. So maybe it is her age that is to blame for her inability to remain consistently charged for more than a few days. Ben, my brother-in-law, thinks it might be the poorly installed, non-factory radio. Or it might be that I never go anywhere consistently enough. We’re not sure exactly what the cause is, what we do know is that twice in the past two weeks Ruby has refused to start due to some sort of mysterious power issues.
Ironically, it’s driving me right up the wall. And in another ironic twist this angry hermit never wants to leave the house so much as when she can’t. Thankfully, my brother-in-law is close by and willing to come to my rescue. I’m also thankful that the Chicken Fingers (it’s what I call my writing group) are tolerant and patient and probably only said a few bad things about me missing our meeting tonight even though it was my turn to be critiqued.
Even with all the patience and willingness to help, I still feel rotten. Car problems make me have to face my worst anxieties all at once — having to ask for help, being a burden on other people, a sudden loss of independence, and utter, total, and complete helplessness.
Bah! It sucks, and I like to believe that everyone feels this crappy when their car is broken. Right? Right?