Overkill
Okay. So I'm about ready to just quit. Sit here in my papasan chair, read Plutarch, not look at the news, not turn on the telly, do nothing.
So I'm a fifth year university senior, right? Well, dad and I went this morning to Ye Olde Corporate Tyre Shoppe to replace my tyres, which have been on my car since my freshman year. Dad helped me get set up, and then left. Once they'd finished putting the tyres on, the guy came back in and informed me that there are some things on my car that need to be addressed. New shocks, new brakes, new axles. Seven or eight hundred dollars work, total; as if I didn't know that my seventeen year old vehicle is falling apart. Of course, I was, and still am, a bit annoyed with him rattling off the problems faster than I can process the information, but finally I got out of there with printouts of just what exactly needs fixing. I wasn't in a position to get things set up to be repaired today, and I wouldn't get them repaired there anyway.
So I drove home and walked in the door to find a note saying that the dog's kennel needed attention. I went into the garage and looked inside the crate kennel; nothing. I looked at the outside kennel, where dad has put her without food. Nothing. So I called dad and ask him to clarify, and it turns out that he meant the dog house. Once I was finished on the phone with him, discussing the dog and the needed repairs, I realized that I'd somehow tracked dog scat on mom's precious (and not new anymore) blue carpet.
Basically, this is too much. I spent three weeks sitting, doing next to nothing, and now I have to worry about my car falling apart? Pretty much, yeah. Had dad stayed around here, instead of taking Twitley to Wyoming, the tyres might have been changed the week after Christmas, but instead they're changed now.
And Granddad's still gone. And he's not coming back.
I've just come off of three weeks of semi-holiday, I've been back to school one week, and I'm ready to check myself into a mental institution. Bollocks.
Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.
So I'm a fifth year university senior, right? Well, dad and I went this morning to Ye Olde Corporate Tyre Shoppe to replace my tyres, which have been on my car since my freshman year. Dad helped me get set up, and then left. Once they'd finished putting the tyres on, the guy came back in and informed me that there are some things on my car that need to be addressed. New shocks, new brakes, new axles. Seven or eight hundred dollars work, total; as if I didn't know that my seventeen year old vehicle is falling apart. Of course, I was, and still am, a bit annoyed with him rattling off the problems faster than I can process the information, but finally I got out of there with printouts of just what exactly needs fixing. I wasn't in a position to get things set up to be repaired today, and I wouldn't get them repaired there anyway.
So I drove home and walked in the door to find a note saying that the dog's kennel needed attention. I went into the garage and looked inside the crate kennel; nothing. I looked at the outside kennel, where dad has put her without food. Nothing. So I called dad and ask him to clarify, and it turns out that he meant the dog house. Once I was finished on the phone with him, discussing the dog and the needed repairs, I realized that I'd somehow tracked dog scat on mom's precious (and not new anymore) blue carpet.
Basically, this is too much. I spent three weeks sitting, doing next to nothing, and now I have to worry about my car falling apart? Pretty much, yeah. Had dad stayed around here, instead of taking Twitley to Wyoming, the tyres might have been changed the week after Christmas, but instead they're changed now.
And Granddad's still gone. And he's not coming back.
I've just come off of three weeks of semi-holiday, I've been back to school one week, and I'm ready to check myself into a mental institution. Bollocks.
Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks.
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