I think, maybe, I have just within the last hour started to recover from my frustration of the last few days. I felt it building up on Sunday, and it has lasted straight through – three days, then, of somewhat unexplained anxiety and frustration, culminating today with the thing I hate most, dealing with the car. My car problem is this: I don’t understand cars. I know very little about how they work, and as such, I switch into my default position of value and workableness, one of the things that I’ve claimed from my dad: spend more money on things that matter to you. As my car matters to me, I am an easy mark for car people. They can upsell me as long as they make it seem like something that will really benefit my car. While I think I’m doing better with seeing through this crap, it has still left me with such bitterness and distrust toward mechanics in general that all excursions to the shop make me cranky. Well, today, I took my car to the Toyota dealership. This is because they were the people I called last week when my indicator light went on, and they told me I wouldn’t need an appointment to replace the brake-or-tail light and that it could be done in five minutes. That sounded great to me, and I figured I’d put it off long enough that I no longer had the luxury of screwing around and trying to fix it myself. I’m going on a long trip tomorrow, I need to have tail lights and I need my rearview mirror reattached. I decided I could get this done over my usual lunch hour. I took the car to the dealer at 11:20 and took a seat in the waiting room.
It took TWO HOURS and cost $30. Yargh. I didn’t even take a book along, as I finished Unless during Geology lecture this morning. Argh, argh, argh. I was so frustrated at the dealership that I tried to talk my car into seceding from the Toyota union and becoming its own independent entity. So far, it’s stalling on an answer. Silly Plush Dragon.
In other car news, I have sprung *another* leak. When I took the car through the car wash this afternoon (it was a big day for the car), water dripped down through the console light and light button that’s just above the rear view mirror. That’s in addition to two places on the windshield that water leaks through and the leak on the floor. I may have a water-soluble car. One good rain and it could dissolve completely, you never know.
So, dealing with the car was not *at all* a good thing to attempt when I’d woken up frustrated, nor was it a great idea after finishing Unless. I think Unless will make my Top Ten for this year. Not even particularly because it’s fantastic or even, cue the deep Valk voice, “great,” but because parts of it are so wholly me that I almost want to weep with the knowledge that I’m recognized (and the ensuing self-realization from parts of this continues to unfold. oo, let me fit in the word “actualized” here so that this is now the most psych-sounding entry ever ever ever in my LJ). Also, it’s really started me thinking again about feminism and women writing literature, which is not a topic that I’m easily stirred into considering. It is, however, an excellent topic for me to want to discuss on the eve of a long car trip with my mother, the psych-major-with-a-women’s-studies-minor social worker that she is. I may actually be approaching a place where I can discuss this with her with a beginning understanding.
So, yes, considering feminism in the lobby of the Toyota dealership was definitely an interesting morning.