Killing Me Loudly
January 15, 2004
On the very literal verge of an actual nervous breakdown at work. Seriously. Chest thumping, hands shaking, the whole show. Must develop some sort of device to alter the space/time continuum in order to get everything done. Self-medicating with Smarties and pretending they are candy-flavored Xanax.
Got my car back. They fixed the battery cable, but not the fuel pump recall or the squealing rear brakes. Two days, the effers had it. Two. Days. They also left me with a practically flat tire. Went to three gas stations looking for air this morning; found none. Drove to work on the verge of a blowout. Luckily the roads had been salted in preparation for the vicious 10 minutes of flurries we had last night.
Anyway. No time, no time. Why am I talking to you? Or rather, to myself? Wait…why am I reading this out loud as I type?