March 2, 2006
Someone's Dogma Ran Over My Karma
My gawd! I don't think I've had this much of a run of bad luck in a really long time. And I have to stop and ask myself if there was anything I could have done to prevent this from happening. I must have pissed of the karmic gods because they are sticking it to me big time.
So, last Saturday, I was on my way to work. I've taken to the San Mateo Bridge for my commute because it's free-flowing and fast compared to the Bay Bridge and even the Dumbarton Bridge. On Saturday, however, it was neither quick nor free-flowing. I got within two miles of the toll plaza and then came to a halt. All four lanes were packed with people. I'm assuming this is a weekend deal because I don't drive it on the weekends very often, or at least not at 3 p.m. That took some time to get through, but there was enough eye candy in the adjoining lanes to keep me amused for the duration. Then I went to work, and then I went home.
I stopped for gas at about 10:30 p.m., and shortly after, I left the gas station. And shortly after that, my engine light came on. This always freaks me out. In my Rabbit and my first Golf, I only had little red light bulbs situated above icons to tell me if something's wrong. Now, I've got lighted icons as well as audible sounds and sometimes even a text display of errors to tell me that I'm headed for the auto shop. About seven months ago, give or take, my engine light came on for the first time. I took it in, and the shop told me that the coolant sensor was malfunctioning or something. It was a part that triggered the coolant system and prevented the car from overheating. Well. Since you put it that way, fix it at all costs. I've had enough of automobile cooling malfunctions to last a lifetime. And then the car ran beautifully. I love my car, I can't emphasize that enough. So this time, when the engine light came on, I was upset and wondering what else could it mean? And apparantly, there are 150 different things this light could represent. Yay.
To add insult to injury, my bank account seems to have sprung a leak because after I pay rent and all the necessities, I'm like...well...I've just never liked talking money on this thing. Even if I were keeping a written diary, I probably wouldn't talk about it. It just seems so...gauche, so, I don't know, tacky. I hate money. It's a necessary evil in the modern world. You can't live without it, and having it is just as much of a hassle. So let's just say that it's a double whammy for me at this point.
So, I knew that the car repair would be extensive and costly. I just figured as much. I mean, if a light turns on to tell you that something is wrong, that something is pretty important, and important things are expensive. So, I parked the car, which was running perfectly by the way, and decided to take public transportation to and from work until such time as I could afford the repairs. How could I prepare myself for the indignity of a breakdown? That lasted a day before I, myself, was breaking down and actually yelling at a bus driver.
I have never yelled at a bus driver, no matter how much I've dreamed of it. So rude. But then again, she almost didn't stop for me, it was raining, I was tired, and all I wanted to do was go to bed. By the time she dropped me off at the Union City BART station, I was calmed enough that I was able to apologize for my outburst and sincerely wish her a good evening. I know they put up with the shit all day long, so my yelling like a freak wasn't helping anything.
As an aside, this whole public transportation thing is a good thing for me, no matter how much I deride it. It's forcing me to get some exercise. I'm walking everywhere again, and that is so good. I walk at a brisk pace, and I've got my blessed iPod keeping me busy. So far, I've shuffled through 827 of 7432 songs. That's fun. I repeated "Jive Talking" by the BeeGees at least four times last night; it's such a great rhythm to walk to, especially if you want to strut, and by last night, I didn't give a shit what I looked like.
Tuesday evening, I had to stay late, ’til about 8:30 p.m. I missed the last bus across the bay, so I had to take Caltrain. The California Avenue Caltrain station is two miles from my office. the walk from the office to Caltrain is downhill, and it takes roughly a half an hour. I got to the train station at about 9 p.m., bought my ticket, and prayed for a cigarette. The train came by a half-hour later, and I got off at Millbrae to connect to BART. I got off at Daly City to connect to the Pittsburg/Bay Point train, which left the platform at 11 p.m. It dropped me off at Rockridge at just before midnight. I walked in the door of my apartment at 12:16 a.m. Can you feel the love here?
Then I got up at six o'clock the same morning to start the process all over again. As I was screaming in the shower, I decided that I could scrounge up the pennies it would take to pay for the repairs. I made a call to the auto shop to take it in this morning.
Fortunately for me, Wednesday night I got to leave at 5:30 p.m. All of my work was done, and now it's in the hands of reviewers. I can't do anything until their comments come in. I still got home three hours later, but it was 8:30 p.m., and I could at least sit down and read my junk mail before I crashed. And lately, I've been crashing hard and fast. That's OK. I don't mind that.
I set the alarm for six again so I could get up early enough to get to the auto shop before they opened. But somehow my alarm didn't go off, and I didn't hit the snooze button...at least I don't think I did. Instead, I dreamed that I had been accepted back into the navy, at the rank of a third-class petty officer with an automatic promotion to a lieutenant commander upon completion of my A school. I had a great room in a fun, vivacious, social dormitory, and I was presented with some sort of commendation by none other than Captain Jean-Luc Picard. He handed me a plate which had my commendation in the form of a chocolate cake in the shape of a book. The book was covered in chocolate frosting, and it had pale green writing explaining what I did to deserve this. Can't remember what it was, though. I was so happy, all I could say was "merci" over and over again as he left the room. And then I woke up. Late. 6:51 a.m. late.
I got to the auto shop on Broadway at 7:30-ish, checked in my car, was quoted what I feared, and then hoofed it to the 19th Street BART station so I could try to get to work on time. Ha. There were two San Francisco trains in a row when I really needed a Fremont train. I figured that I wasn't going to make the last bus across the bay, so I opted for Caltrain down to Palo Alto. On the second BART train to San Francisco, standing among the other commuters, I raised my head, smiled, and said, "I did it for Johnny." No, really, I realized that so much of what I was going through was out of my control. Waking up late I can fix. My car, that's kinda half and half. I'm doing my best to keep the rest of it up, and what else can I do? So I surrendered myself to whatever is up there. And then I found a tiny bit of inspiration, which, upon further research, is going to save my big white ass. This time.
If anything, this whole experience has been anything but stable, and that's only part of what's throwing me out off kilter. Everything I do is part of a routine, scripted, analyzed, rehearsed...down to the minute practically, and since I'm relying on mass transit, which in the Bay Area sucks ass and is the least reliable form of anything, I'm having to go with the flow, and that scares me a little. I'm a control freak. Sue me.
So, by the time I got to Palo Alto this morning, it was after ten. It was a sunny morning, the air was cool, the sky was blue, and the sun was hot. Nice. And so I walked up Page Mill Road in a half an hour and was literally dripping with sweat all over by the time I reached my building. And then my security badge didn't work. It is usually clipped to my belt loop, and it got caught in my car seatbelt a long time ago. The card kinda bent a little, but the thing still opened the doors, so I didn't do anything about it. This morning, when the doors didn't open, I knew that the card had finally given up, but part of me was still thinking, holy shit, they finally fired me. Pessimist much? They gave me a new badge.
Verbose much?
It's now about five o'clock, and I haven't heard from the auto shop. I wonder what that means. Another day to sell a kidney. A long weekend for me, trekking to and from work to finalize this submission. Weight loss. Fresh air. Time to take pictures. I am not worried about it anymore. Things have developed that will insure security. And now it's time to go home.
