Wednesday, August 5, 2020

My Time Ain't My Time

I'm miserable this morning.  I have to leave in a minute to take my car to the fix-it shop.  My brakes are going out.  The other day, the pedal went to the floor without stopping the car.  Weird feeling.  I was able to pump the brakes and get them to work.  Trouble?  Master cylinder, they say.  But I have to have the car their early.  Worse, I have no way home and will have to walk.  Oh, I walk every day, but when you must, it is no longer a game.  I don't know how far the shop is from my house, but it seems a long way.  I have become accustomed to my leisurely morning routine.  I don't even have time to get through the papers.  Or my pot of coffee.  I will be carless all day.  Now, I don't usually go anywhere in this Time of Covid, but not having the option will be maddening.  

How will I pick up my car, you ask?  I haven't figured that out yet.  I might Uber.  

I bought a new washing machine yesterday.  The $445 washer cost me over $600.  Don't ask.  Once you are there, you just do it.  They will deliver it tomorrow, another day of waiting.  Then Friday, the Wrecking Crew comes.  Three days of. . . of my time being. . . not my time.  Oh, man, it feels like work again.  

And so, I must away.  But before I go, what an explosion in Beirut.  Once the Paris of the Middle East because of its beauty and liberal ways, it is now a burnt out wasteland.  Religious zealotry can ruin anything.  


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