RIP, Psychologist

So I attended the funeral of my therapist yesterday/Friday afternoon.

It was raining all day -- not the ideal weather conditions to travel to a church and then attend the post-funeral reception, but it was the appropriate mood.  I didn't know anyone there except his secretary, but I was allowed to just stand and pace and look around in the church and wait for the ceremony to begin.

Nice-looking church.  Churches are always nice looking.  I'm not Catholic, but some of the psalms and beats and call-and-responses were actually familiar to me.  Then I remembered that I attended the funeral of my sister's best friend's mother back in December.  She too was Catholic, so I remembered what I had seen yesterday from back in December.  And then it dawned on me that I've been to two funerals within the past 12 months, and that I may be going to a lot more as I get older.

I will never know what to say, or how to behave, at a celebration of life memorial.  I mean, what can you say?

I saw the family march out in the steady rain to bury him.  It was not my place to accompany them, so I drove to his son's townhouse for the reception, then waited about a half-hour to make sure I saw people park and go to what I hoped was the right address.  (In the meantime I fell asleep, or at least tried to; a couple of times, as I was about to doze off, I could feel my Adam's apple press up against my collar and tie, and I felt this fear that I was drowning shoot up inside me, and I woke up again.  Wearing a collar and tie will always feel like I'm choking myself.)

Feels tacky to say this, but I will: The son has a nice place.  For a townhome whose driveway they split with another family, it's really spacious.  The food was decked out in what looked like a small indoor racquetball court.  I could totally see a family live here.  Heck, with the downstairs wet bar, I could see myself living here, even though it might be a big too spacious for just myself.  There, I did what a person who was not the deceased's immediate circle would do: Eat and keep to myself.  Eventually the daughter-in-law introduced myself, and that was nice to not feel like a total stranger.  I wanted to shake hands with her husband, the son, but on my way out (I didn't want to stay too long) I did what I thought was the absolutely necessary thing to do and give my condolences to my therapist's wife, the widow.  I remember a couple times calling him  where she picked up and handed the phone to him.  She said she knows who I was and remembers him raving about me.  I can't imagine being one of the people he remembers so fondly, but that's nice to know.

---

Seeing a man so loved made me tear up a little at the church.  It is jarring to see his two sons break down as they memorialized him.  And it is sad to watch, but it's a testament that he was so loved and valued, and what more can you want from a life?  I only know him from our relationship, but it was at the church where I saw how many friends he made, and how many lives he touched.  He was a hell of a guy who did a whole bunch of nice things, for his family and his professional community.  And his patients too, like me.

I have friends, but I don't confide in them like I did with my psychotherapist.  There are things I've told him I haven't told my family.  It's mostly my fears and sexual urges, and frankly, those are things I am not completely certain I can tell my friends, and definitely not my family.  (Sidetrack: Those things, especially my sexual urges, I would totally tell my stripper girlfriends.  But nearly all of them do not seem to want that level of emotional intimacy I am ready to give them at the drop of a hat.  That favoritism is something I think I told my shrink.)  And through all my rants and paranoia and erotic fantasies and violent ideations, for the 10-5 years I had known him, he just ... listened.  And that's what I miss about him the most.  He was a sounding board, someone I could not only talk to but talk at, and he just listened to me without judgement.  That isn't a healthy relationship, but that is definitely what my damaged, damned soul needed, to be listened to without judgement.  OK, so his advice the past several times we spoke over the phone were strange and not productive.  But that doesn't take away the fact that over the years he was someone I could talk to, and he helped, and tried to help, me when I needed someone to speak to in private.  I don't know if I can find another one like him again.

RIP, sir.

Maybe They're ... Not Coming Home?

I blog posted about not wanting to directly talk with my parents because I don't want to hear from them that they're coming home, but it's been about a week since I last spoke with them, and frankly, that is kind of weird.  I'm a chickenshit, but even this period of incommunicado was getting ridiculous.

Still, I took a baby step after my long day at work last/Thursday night.  No mail came that I needed to alert Mother about, but I looked at an e-mail on her e-mail account that she paid for the trash bill at an amount lower than what was stated on the bill I got and told her.  I was concerned that there was a reason she didn't pay the amount I thought she needed to pay, but as I've done the past week or so, I only texted her.  I thought she would call.  Well, Father called back on his cellphone, and he started off by giving me the number of a roofer who was willing to come by the house and inspect and give an estimate for replacing the roof.  He really wants me to call him, then take a day off to let his guy go all over the top of our house.  Well, if you're coming home, why can't Father do that?

Father then got Mother on his phone.  She got my text; she put in that amount on purpose after haggling with the trash service.  Nothing else she said rocked my world for the worse.  In fact, she said that they might be planning a trip.  After coming back here?  Before?  Instead??  I got the feeling, then and there, that my parents might not be coming back home after all, even though Mother said as early as August that they would.  I didn't press her on this issue because I don't want to jinx anything.  But if they're going to be away from home for upwards of a calendar year ... well, that just means the ultimate state of freedom for me, isn't it?

Ironically, though, this makes me believe that I should visit them.  They have things here they might need if they are taking a long trip out of the country.  Besides, and don't tell them this, I kind of miss them.  And I don't my hanging out with them so long as they're away from all my stuff that I've strewn around the house.  I should start making plans to fly to see them, risk of getting kidnapped by the government be damned. ...

Eggplant Emoji Or No Eggplant Emoji?

So I'm Facebook friends with this hot woman who is not a model (at least I don't think) but is a swimwear designer.  She takes many photos of herself in her creations.  She's got a great body, but it's not as if she's showing off her ass or anything, which in my opinion is nudity.  So while she's beautiful, it never gets to the point where I have the perverted urge to send her an eggplant emoji.

Yesterday/Tuesday her Reels pop up.  She's in her swimsuits again, only this time she has a younger woman with her.  She never says, but I suspect she's her daughter.  And she's modeling her (maybe) mom's swimsuits too.  She's fucking hot as well, and this time, she's showing off her ass.

Two hotties, one of whom showing her bare ass?  Yeah, that's enough for me to send an eggplant emoji -- actually two, one for each of them.  But then I paused.  Do I really want to do that?  I scroll through our Messenger to see if I sent her eggplant emojis before -- I haven't.  If I give her the double eggplant, will she be mad at me?  Worse yet, would she show her followers what I Messengered her?

I hope not, but I can't take that risk.  So despite my horniness, I decided not to respond.  It makes me sick to my stomach that I'm censoring myself.  But I'm getting older, though, and maybe more paranoid.

I was going to blog post about me deciding to attend the Women's PGA Championship at Hazeltine (tl;dr in case I don't ever get back around to talking about it: I'm glad I went) or the time Friday I went downtown just to watch the World Cup and a growing party just fucking got in my way.  But before I left for Hazeltine yesterday/Sunday I juice half a lemon and got 35 mL out of it.  That meant I had to drink two cocktails, and since I got back so late I had only till 9:30 p.m. (I juiced them around 11:30 a.m. and I think you have up to ten hours before the juice starts to taste bleh) to use them, and I realized while watching Red Sox-Yankees on NBC that it was past 9, so I made and downed a lemon drop martini and then quickly followed that up with a between the sheets, and not only do I have a pounding headache, I think I may have poisoned myself.

So, to summarize, that is what I'm blog posting about ... while also providing a possible cause of death in case I don't wake up in the morning.

One Dollar Fewer And I'll Be Killed By A Dog

So I just got my hair cut from some dog lady who had a sign that basically said she loved her dog, but her customer service was kind of meh.  I tipped her a buck less than I otherwise would, but beyond the meh service, I tipped less because these guys raised their prices by another buck.  I swear it was, like, $15 around the time of the pandemic.  Anyway, when you tip, they have buttons for five, seven and ten bucks.  But since I tipped only $4, I had to hit the custom button.  So I'm scared that she noticed and she's pissed.

I am so afraid that I forgot to get my silver-lined loofah from the master bathroom when I took a shower in my bathroom.  I also hit my head against the rail that's still in the shower, and I spat on my foot while I was in there.  I'm so afraid because she might know where I live, and might sic her dog on me.  Yeah, the dog she devotes her life to is Cujo.  Sucks to be me that I got my hair cut by someone with shitty customer service and Cujo for a pet.

So Mother said I had to pay property taxes on the house, and they're due at the end of the week.  Also, because she's paranoid, she wants me to personally deliver the check to the receptionist at the county government building.  I would do that if I could get out of work in time.

Saw my schedule when I came to work yesterday/Monday.  The only time I get out of work early (and thus go into work early) is tomorrow/Wednesday ... and dammit, that's when I have to go to the United FC Match playing that evening.  Well of course I would be scheduled to leave work early on a day that I shouldn't.  I sure as hell won't schlep all the way up to the county building only to go back down, pass my workplace, and to the Match.  That's a lot of driving, and I am not going to drive everywhere, especially with gas as expensive as it is now, thanks, Trump.  Moreover, I wish I would've gotten my schedule before I left work on Friday.  Sometimes my boss is able to release the following week's schedule by then.  If she did, I could check back with her and ask to work an early shift on a day other than tomorrow/Wednesday.

Best thing I can do it push my workday tomorrow/Wednesday down a half-hour.  Assuming we'll be offered overtime to key, I could just flow from work to Allianz Field without worrying about excessive downtime, which is what I could be facing otherwise.

Oh, wait ... I'm talking about my property taxes, aren't I?  So yeah, I have no time to personally hand my check over to someone.  Best I can do is drive up there well after afternoon rush and drop my check off at a drop box.  Hope I can find this box.  And I hope Mother will understand, but she won't, so I'll lie about not handing the check over to a human being or something.

Man, I think I logged onto VEF for the first time on Google ever.  Don't think I want to do that.  Maybe it's time for the laptop to get a cleaning.

Yellow Poles? For Me?

Weirdest thing when I got home from work last/Friday night.  I noticed that the screen door was opened.  Then I saw a bunch of plastic thin yellow rods propping up the door.  And no, I didn't buy them from Amazon.

Freaking out at this "gift" left for me, I ran to the door.  It was a half-dozen stakes -- you know, things you would put in the ground of your front yard to let you know where your gas and water lines are.  But why in the hell would they piled up against my front door?  And backing up here, what the hell are they?  It looks like the closest thing they could be are like these reflective driveway poles.  I think a part of each rod, close to one end, is painted white, and it's that white part that is supposed to reflect light from a headlight to guide a driver onto the driveway.

Or something.  I didn't take a close look at them because I didn't know why in the hell would someone leave those for me.  It's not like they were lying around my front yard.  Who would even think to give these to me?  That's why I'm still suspicious as hell why they're there.  And yet ... well, these things might come in handy.  I don't know for what, but they might.  So I threw them over my side door.  I'll get around to them when I have the time and if I am no longer scared as to why and how they got to my front door.

Seriously, though -- who would give me these ... yellow poles?  Is this a set-up of some sort?

Best Sleep I Ever Had ... Most Awkward Morning I'll Ever Have

Work was hell yesterday.  They were short-staffed at data entry, so the person who would've helped me in The Third Department was keying most of the day.  Thank goodness she was able to help out near the end of the day; there were stacks of papers that allowed tests to be processed, and honestly, I had so much other shit I needed to do that all of that stuff would not have gotten done.  That's a lot of tests that would've waited till today, and people would not have been happy.

Still, I was busy with my own shit.  I knew before coming in to work yesterday that we would be short-staffed.  I had plans yesterday to eat dinner, then go see roller derby.  But leaving work on Thursday all tired and ragged, I was afraid that I wouldn't have time between work and roller derby yesterday, so I broke my planned edict not to spend any money on Thursday and ate dinner (and grab that free birthday ice cream cup) at Culver's.  And, sure enough, I had to stay an extra couple hours at work, so once I decided I hate to shut things down, I immediately went to roller derby, which was an excellent time featuring a championship bout where one team came back from, like, 40 points down in the First Half to take the lead late, only to lose by two Points at the end.

I ate at roller derby, and since this was in a good part of town to eat, I ate a knockoff Taco Bell crunchwrap close by.  And then coming home I was listening to Duke's buzzer-beater over LSU in the Women's Tournament Regional Semifinal.  It was 11:30 by the time I got to my bed, and I think my body was telling me to go to bed.  I figured if I'm not that tired, I would wake up from a nap.

But I didn't.  I woke up when normal people wake up, around 8 or so.  I didn't expect to have a full night's sleep, and at a time when you "should," but I did and I feel really good, of course.

Then, I felt really good.  Part of me going to bed easily was because I wanted to avoid the news about whether Tennessee lost to Iowa St.  I had the Volunteers winning, and it was an important pick to keep my bracket alive for the big, big money.  I saw a skeet that Tennessee was up by one at halftime, but that was it.  I knew I had to finally find out the final (if only because I had to post on Facebook about it), so I looked at my Yahoo! Sports app ... and I saw that they blew out the Cyclones in the Second Half and won going away!  Yippee!!!

Quick update on my bracket: I went 7-0 in Round 3.  I still have Arizona, Duke and Michigan in Round 4, and I think I still am in contention for winning it all.  Out of a thousand people (give or take), I went from a tie for 15th to, get this, fourth.  I think there's a way for me to end up on top, but a lot of things have to break my way.  Meanwhile, there are so many entries that there's one guy who picked Illinois and Tennessee in the Final Four, and he's right up there at the top of the leaderboard with me.

---

And now the other shoe drops: No Kings.  Everybody's going.  Well, everybody but me.  I decided this week not to go.  There is work because they are short-staffed today as well.  And, call me paranoid, but I know that there is surveillance from the federal (don't know about the state) government going on.  I walk on the State Capitol, where everybody is, and there's no telling whether there's going to be a drone recording all of our faces.

I hate that I'm thinking this way.  I hate that I'm chickening out and using work as an excuse, and I am.  I am getting total FOMO right now, and the rallies haven't even started yet, because, even though it's been mentioned in many places, the No Kings March in St. Paul is going to be recognized as The Flagship No Kings March.  Out of the thousands of protests that are and will be going on around the world, it'll be ours in St. Paul regarded as the touchstone.  Senator Bernie Sanders will be there.  So will Bruce Springsteen.  And the more I write about this, the more I regret not going.

And the worst thing about this is the text I got on Messenger.  One of my friends, who has been talking to me off and on about this current installed government, just asked me if I was going.  She, of course, is going, and more power to her.  But I don't know how to tell I'm not going.  We've talked about how much we hate this government and are trying to figure out how to rebel against them.  Surely I would go to something like this, right?  No.  And I don't know how to tell her.

I think she's waiting on an answer.  Maybe I'll take a shower and think up something.  How awkward.

Goddamn, Car Trouble Fucks Everything Up

Man, don't you hate it when you have to stop everything just because of car trouble?  OK, I am exaggerating what happened and didn't happen yesterday/Tuesday, but it's still a pain in the ass.

So I go out to sleep in my car at work for my lunch break.  My paranoid eyes always makes me think I'm seeing something that's not there, but on this day, they latched onto something unusual and, turns out, scary: A bulge/blister/bump on my passenger-side tire.  Honestly, I didn't think anything of it.  I just thought I needed to deflate the air in that overinflated tire (didn't help), and then I went inside my car to nap.  But that bubble concerned me anyway, so I had to go to my cell and Google, "is it dangerous to have a bump on the side of your tire?"  And all the entries in the search said, "Hell yes, it's fucking dangerous!"

(Aside: I seem to have more problems with tires on this car than I ever had with my old one.  Is it because it's a subcompact whose tires are naturally lower profile?  I remember getting one of my tires punctured the Friday before Labor Weekend, and now this.  By the way, that bubble is probably the result of hitting one pothole, or one too many potholes.  Goddamn potholes.)

After making a couple calls to see if I could get a tire after work, I decided that after work I needed to swap out that tire for the spare.  But dammit, my mechanic screwed those lug nuts in so tight I couldn't loosen them.  I did not believe at all that I needed to call AAA, but because I am too weak, I had to.  Luckily, even during afternoon rush hour traffic and him helping me being led astray by his Google Maps, the guy who was about to save me arrived at work after one hour.  The last time I called AAA (and I think it was when I had to stop the minivan around St. Thomas for what was a broken alternator), it was at least twice that long.  And after using WD-40 and a long-handle lug nut remover to get as much torque working, he got the bad tire off.  Roadside assistants are angels, they truly are.

Also angels are, I now realize, the only car mechanic in the neighborhood that's open evenings.  Why aren't there more car shops that are open evenings, or weekends for that matter?  Cars don't break down at night or on weekends?  Anyway, the place I babied my car to was the only one around the area open at 7 at night.  And even though they couldn't get the same exact tire for me that evening, they can do so this morning.  Also, they did what I asked them to: Check the other tires to make sure they're fine, and to check the air pressure on the spare (even though I asked the roadside assistant to check and to pump it up.  I always forget to check the air in the spare).

So I talked about having plans ruined.  Specifically, I wanted to eat at either Culver's or Potbelly, two places where I can get free dessert for my birthday.  I then wanted to go home, look through the mail, call Mother about the mail if need be, then maybe nap before I caught the 8 o'clock showing of Ready Or Not 2: Here I Come.  But after I got everything arranged for the (hopefully) quick tire swap this morning, I got my car back, spare tire still affixed, and I still had time to make the movie.  I didn't feel completely safe that I could drive to the theater to watch when I could, and maybe should, drive back home.  But a mixture of relief that people were able to help me and defiance that I didn't want my car trouble to stop me from the fun I planned on having compelled me to get to the movie.  And I made it in time.  And the film was ... um, bloody and profane, but OK, just like the first one.

One problem after I left the shop and before I went into the theater.  I locked the door with the key fob, but I didn't see the light flicker on indicating everything got locked.  I then noticed that the hood was slightly open.  Now I noticed when I was at the shop, looking through the window into the bay where the mechanics were looking at my car, that the hood was opened up, presumably for the guys to go through their customary check of everything in my car even though I was just there to get a tire replaced.  I didn't think anything else of it, though, because I assumed they would slam the hood shut.  But they didn't.  I didn't drive really fast; you're not supposed to on a spare, plus I used side streets to get from the mechanic to the theater.  But I realized that I drove several miles with the hood open.  The hood of my old car flew open while I was driving to the gym a baker's dozen years ago, and that was the scariest fucking thing that's happened to me on the road ... well, OK, maybe top five.  My point is is that it seems very, very dangerous to drive with the hood open.  I don't think anything got ruined, and yet I feel my car is beyond repair because I drove it with the hood open.  Look, if anything did get damaged, I probably won't know till much, much later.  Fuckin' A, man -- these guys were quick, and they treated me well.  But they fucking forgot to slam my fuckin' hood shut?!

No, I probably won't bring it up.  Again, if there's damage because I drove with the hood open, how would I know?  Oh, well, you take the head-slappingly bad with the good when you're in a jam.  Hopefully they can just get me my new tire and do so quickly and easily.

New Hat Rack

So just after the New Year I bought on Amazon a new hat rack.  The one I have, which Father helped nail onto the wall, kind of looks like a ladder.  There are hooks that you hang on each "slat" of this rack, and the pincers at the end of each hook is where the folded cap gets attached and hangs on the rack.

Two problems with this.  One, I have bought and got so many ballcaps (I want to say I have at least 50) that there was no more room on the rack.  And two, the hooks have gotten so worn out that they no longer pinch the caps in place.  I try putting them back, and just when I think the hook has a hat in its grasp, the hat falls to the ground.  I have had to throw away many hooks that have worn out.

My Father, in the midst of going through my shit and fucking invading my privacy, did come up with an ingenious way to get all my hats on the rack by putting them on those clothes hangers with hooks on each end, then hanging those clothes hangers on the rack.  But I wound up relaxing in my bed, watching my TV and seeing, over to the left, this ugly mass of hats and a metastatic tumor of clothes hangers squeezing next to and piling on top of one another just so they can stay on the rack.  I normally don't give a fuck about how things look so long as they do the job, but even I couldn't stand seeing that monstrosity every day.  (I have to admit that, as clever as he is, seeing that semi-organized mess was a reminder that My Fucking Father went through my things and acted as if he knew what was best for me, and I rebelled against that, albeit subconsciously.)

I thought I needed a second hat rack to handle the overflow of the first hat rack, but in time I thought I should just get something that could handle all of my hats.  Eventually, I something that fit the bill and bought it on Amazon.  It is a series of five cubby holes on a vertical rack that can hang on doors because there are hooks and grommets on the top.  I installed it on the inside of my bedroom door and, frankly, it's a godsend.  All the hats that crowded my plastic rack I can just fold and place in one of the shelves, and I have two shelves left over.  In fact, assuming I don't buy any more ballcaps (and that could happen), this new rack really could take all the hats I have.  I don't necessarily need my first, old one anymore.  The only thing I'm scared of, and this might just be my paranoia talking, is that the hats on this new, second rack might weigh down my door so much it'll start to pry the door off its hinge.  Hope not; this door has been where it's been as long as I can remember it.

All in all, I'm glad I made this purchase.

Bored Me Napping, Then Shopping For Big-Ticket Items

Braced myself for another long day at work yesterday/Friday ... but it wasn't; it was actually tame, and very tame compared to Thursday ... and yet I have to brace myself for today/Saturday, because my bosses said that today/Saturday could bring in a bunch of work which I don't understand why it couldn't have come yesterday/Friday, and so I'm coming in to work as soon as I wake up.

So my plan of staying in today/Saturday has blown up, but hey, I am getting beaucoup overtime this week, so I'm not too upset.  Still, I wondered what I would do once I got home (on-time, which I did not expect) yesterday/Friday.  I thought I would be awake enough to start on the leftover pizza that I had decided I would eat, but the setting sun convinced me to take a nap first.  If I wasn't tired, I'd pop up early, and work on the pizza before the sports Games I wanted to watch would start at 7.

I crawled into bed before 6.  I woke up a couple minutes past 9.  Didn't expect to do that.  I thought I didn't have time to eat pizza and should pivot to spaghetti, which I planned to eat today/Saturday, but I am getting Pizza Hut to watch for the Super Bowl, so I went through with the pizza.

Yeah, nothing exciting.  So, in my bored state, I was reading up on the latest on how these assholes continue to plague and besiege our state.  One person believes that the announcement earlier this week that they're withdrawing troops was just a way to get people in the state and the national news media off their backs.  Then, the next step is for the remaining pricks to go hard not necessarily after non-Whites but observers that have made their loud objections to what is going on here a state-wide issue.  Intriguing, and I can see that that works, and is working now.

And then I clicked on a link recommending the best gas masks to buy.  If I have to physically commit to this struggle, I'll probably get tear-gassed, so I might as well prepare, right?  I looked through not one but two websites dedicated to the best gas masks, and me being a thoroughly-researching consumer, I think I settled upon one.  And, to make things even more tantalizing, the gas mask is on sale.  (I'm not going to link the websites that reviewed the masks or the company that sells the one that appears to be the top-rated one, just in case they're snooping around here.)  I think maybe I'm sounding too paranoid, but dammit, the thing's on sale.  I'll wait till tomorrow/Sunday; if I remember, and if it's still on sale then, I think I'll buy one.

What I did pull the trigger on is a new robe.  After seeing the two website review gas masks, I went to the website that does nothing but review consumer products (to think gas masks are a consumer product -- what a world we live in), The Wirecutter.  And bored me went down another rabbit hole, to their review of robes.  Now, I have thought about buying a robe for the past, oh, few years.  On the one hand I didn't think I needed one; either I would wrap myself in a towel and just hang out on my bed in the nude, or, if I'm alone in the house, I'd just waltz around naked.  But there is a limbo state where you are not totally dry but still want to putz around in the house without your man bits hanging out -- well, unless you want to open up your robe to thrust out your dick.  I'd reserve that occasion when I want to surprise one of my stripper girlfriends.

Anyway, the main obstacle to buying a robe, believe it or not, is price.  The ones The Wirecutter recommends are routinely in the triple digits.  One hundred dollars for a damn robe?!  I may have seen one for $90, but even that's expensive.  However, when I am bored, I am weak.  And thus I was ripe for the picking when I saw one of the recommended robes being sold for about 30% off if I use a promo code tied in with the website.  At $65 ... well, it's still expensive, but it'll be as cheap as these robes will ever get.  Also, I didn't plan on spending any money tonight, but the company said I could pay through PayPal, and my stupid brain has convinced myself into thinking that is not real money, so I bought it under the illusion that I haven't really paid anything today.

So I threw my sleep pattern off last night, I bought a robe, and tomorrow/Sunday I think I'll be buying a gas mask.  This is what bored me does.  Now, off to bed.

Nope, The Car's Broken, Probably

No rhythmic crinkling still; the lug nut fixed that.  Still, I am worried about the oil.  Last week I put in, like, 100 mL because, according to the very unreadable orange dipstick, it was low.  I checked after I put in the oil and the level went up, so it looks as though putting oil in helps.

But that dipstick seems to be low whenever I check it these days.  I thought I should check it again, this week, just to see.  And I did that after work yesterday/Monday, and goddammit, the level is lower.  Maybe not low, but it's concerning because, beyond going from downtown Minneapolis to Cedar-Riverside, I didn't really go anywhere in the week or so since I dumped oil in it.

Winter literally is coming.  It'll snow tonight/Tuesday night, and then the cold is coming in and will settle for the time being.  Not ideal oil-adding weather.  So after I came home and ate dinner, I threw in some more oil.  Nothing more than a quarter-quart if that, but if the dipstick is supposed to be an indication of how low I am down to a quart, that line when I check it again should go back up.

And fuckin' A, I immediately regretted it.  What if I put in too much?  That's why I didn't put in half a quart.  I don't want to overfill it.  But I can't underfill it either, so what happens if what I put in is still not enough?  Every car I have to put in oil becomes fucking Goldilocks, for God's sake.  And why in the hell am I putting in oil twice less than a week?  If I have to, that's a sign that my car's going through it way more than it should.  Or, maybe it's not going through oil as fast as I think it is, and I'm just fucking paranoid because I've been traumatized by my cars not working in years past.  Fuck if I know.

I have half a mind to bring my car quickly to my mechanic, again -- just to ask him if there are any oil leaks, and then maybe ask if to teach me how to read the damn dipstick.  But like I said before, they probably are closed Wednesday afternoon.  Plus, the weather is going to be bad then, so I don't know if they'd be in a mood to indulge my anxieties.  Oh, and they might charge me to do that, too.

I'm scared I filled my engine with too much oil, and I'm also scared that my engine will run out of oil a week from now.  Goddamn, I hate being afraid of what my car will do.

Car's Broken Again

For the past few days I have heard a sound.  It was a rhythmic clicking sound that came from the passenger-side rear, maybe the tire, maybe not.  But as I was parking on my way to another bar, I heard the sound, only louder.  Maybe it was my team losing that led to me being quieter and/or more paranoid about hearing things, but this clicking noise became quite audible.

And while I could drive, I felt as though the car was ... not as in good a shape as it should be?  It was shaking down the highway ... maybe.  Great -- I'm back to asking myself whether I can limp this car around for a while or if I have to drop everything and get this fixed right away.

And if it's the latter -- and I usually panic, so it's usually the latter -- I can't get it fixed right away.  Auto shops are never open on the weekend, and I assume this place is already booked up for tomorrow.  Tuesday I have to use the car to take Father to his dental appointment in the mid-morning, and I have to get to work by noon or else.  Wednesday I report to work early.  Thursday's Thanksgiving.  Friday I have the day off, but I really want to do so some shopping then, so maybe I don't want to bring my car in then, especially if there is something really wrong with the click-clacking.  Maybe I can bring it in Wednesday afternoon after work since I get to leave early, too.  But for all I know, my mechanic will be shutting things down as soon as Wednesday afternoon.  Hell, they might be taking the whole week off.

This fucking sucks, and I hate life.

Just How Long Could I Have Kept My Bandages On?

I don't remove things if it's not hurting anything.  For example, do you know those stickers on credit cards telling you how to active them, and then once activated you're supposed to remove the stickers?  I don't remove them.  Scandal!  But why?  Would my card get stolen if someone got ahold of it with the sticker on?  Don't think so.

I'm the same way with bandages.  I swear, and I say this with a certain amount of pride, I have kept bandages on for shots I've gotten for more than a month.  It's not hurting me none, so why take them off?  It's a testament to how well the adhesive on the bandage is sticking to my skin.  Sure, I've taken bandages off once one side gets wet and flops off my skin.  There's no way I can keep it on when it's not doing its job anymore.  But removing a bandage that remains affixed to my skin even after taking shower after shower?  That's like ripping a baby from their mother's arms.  I couldn't do it.

OK, I might be exaggerating when I say a bandage on your body for a long time isn't hurting anyone.  I got my flu shot at work the middle of last month, and I got my COVID shot at my doctor's check-up the Friday before Halloween.  Both bandages were adhering fine, even excellent.  I only ripped off the perfect flu shot bandage after ten days because it was getting a tad itchy underneath, and I might have been imagining the itchiness.  The bandage for my COVID shot was not itching me at all, but I figured I would take it off also after ten days because ... well, maybe it's a bit silly for me to keep a bandage on well after the needle puncture has healed.  But maybe it hasn't after ten days and it still needs the Band-Aid?  OK, I'm kidding, I think.  Maybe I did so after ten days because of my OCD; if I took off the flu shot bandage after ten days, I'd give the COVID shot bandage the same amount of "life."

I will say this: If the area underneath the flu shot bandage wasn't making me scratch it, I would have kept both on.  And no, I wouldn't've cared that people think it would be weird.  Heck, both bandages are on the top of each bicep (flu left arm, COVID right arm) and it's fall/winter; no one is going to see my arms and know I've had them on longer than any other normal human.  Who knows, one day I might keep my bandages on for two months, or even longer. ...

Addendum To: General (Car-Centered) Anxiety

I checked my coolant overflow tank Tuesday and I think it's below the "MAX" line.  Maybe; the tank is in a place that's surrounded by other parts, so it's hard to take a level look at the line, so I'm eyeballing it from above.  That's why I kind of think that it's been at that level, whatever that level is, for some time.  Well, I know that it was well above "MAX" once, and now it may or may not be below it, but it may have been around "MAX" for some time.  Does that make sense?

I still worry because not only will my sister put my car through its paces all around town as she's shuttling Mother to surgery and rehab for the next few weeks, I/we will be driving it places, too.  We're meeting our brother and niece tonight/Friday night for dinner and some escape room frivolity.  Then on Sunday I decided to go down and visit ****e for some sexytime (and to calm her down; the way she describes it, a donation through her phone turned into an identity theft attempt, and she had to wipe her phone, thus deleting all her contacts).  I could use this break right before Mother goes under the knife.  I just hope the car can withstand the punishment it's been getting, and not just with the coolant.

General (Car-Centered) Anxiety

I don't know, man ... right now, I'm not looking forward to this week.  Don't have any specifics ... although, come to think of it, my sister during work yesterday/Monday has asked for my car on a handful of days, starting this week, and I wasn't able to open up the car hood and check the coolant tank to see if there has been even more of a drop than I saw on Sunday because it was raining.  I should try and take a look today/Tuesday, but the forecast calls for rain this afternoon as well.

I want to go to a concert on Thursday.  Also, barring a change in plans, Mother has surgery next week.  That's a lot of miles for a car that I am afraid might have some sort of leak in the cooling system and thus may overheat.  It's driving fine besides that, and like I said in my last blog post, maybe there's nothing wrong and I'm just finding reasons to scare myself.  But heck yeah, I am kind of scared.

Now Is This Car Gonna Overheat?

It's kind of critical that my car is in as tip-top shape as possible because of Mother's surgery.  I have gotten quasi-obsessed with making sure the correct air pressure is in the tires, there is enough oil (that's a headache in and of itself), and that the coolant is fine.

And the coolant is now scaring the hell out of me.  Some time ago (and I swear I wrote about this in WAF, I just don't know when, and I can't find it), I thought there wasn't enough coolant.  I tried topping it off, only to overfill it.  I think I blog posted about panicking over doing that, but the only thing I could do about it was to let it sit and maybe there would be a point where it would start evaporating or something.

Well, that point seems to be here.  I had checked the level once in a while, and I noticed a couple weeks ago that the level of the coolant in the overflow tank wasn't clearly over the "MAX" line but hovering just above it.  And yesterday/Sunday, after working the Vikings Game, I checked the level again, and it's about at "MAX."  Yes, I should now be OK that the overflow tank isn't overfilled.  But, obviously it's losing coolant.  I asked the Internet if it's normal for coolant to just disappear at this rate and, well, it's telling me that I should get it checked because it could be a head gasket.  OK, I might be actually do something if I start losing coolant at a faster rate than it is, only because I don't have the time, money or energy to immediately bring it in right now, especially if what is happening is normal.

Still, this is bringing up bad memories of the old car, when, after a certain point, if it wasn't one thing it was another.  This is the Internet (and AI-generated answers, which should be taken with a silo of salt, and that is something I should write about some other time), however, and I sometimes wonder if I'm just looking to find things to scare myself with.  Nevertheless, I need to check the coolant tank a bit more frequently, and that in itself introduces a level of anxiety that kind of hampers my daily life.

Some Things Shouldn't Be Done On A Phone

I have trouble -- maybe not old man trouble, but Gen X trouble -- typing on a phone.  It's the second most-frequent thing you do on a cell (behind scrolling I reckon), but I am permanently fixing my errors because my fingers are too fat for the small keys, and autocorrect somehow takes those errors and thinks, "Hmmm, based on what you typed, when you say 'got a good time' you mean 'I love MAGAts'" or some shit.

What I am worried about is doing more and more important things on a phone.  I am not comfortable, for example, having anything to do with any bank accounts I have on my cellphone.  I have gotten over loading my credit card information onto it, but having my money that accessible is a bridge too far for me.  I could easily lose my phone, or I could easily have it hacked and emptied of all my money.  Why would anyone pay like that?  Sorry, that's just me.

The annoyance of typing on a small device has been married with my fear of losing my personal information now that I have to onboard myself to a human resources company through my phone.  I need to do that in order to work Saturday, but I was completely caught off-guard that I need to do this, and it looks as though I can only do this through my cell.  I have had to put in my name and address a few times, and now I have to upload a voided check and an image of my passport.  Really?  Through my cellphone?  That doesn't seem to be a smart thing to do, and I have to do all this important stuff while not making a keying error.

Worst of all, I somehow have a deadline.  I need to do all of this today.  And check this out: I have a Zoom meeting I need to "attend" before I can get this all done so I can work.  A Zoom to do HR stuff?  Let me guess -- it'll be some AI bot I have to talk to, right?

God, technology is going to lead humanity to ruin.

And another thing about the car and the damn oil level ... I sat there for 40 minutes while they took care of the car.  I noticed how much oil dripped out of the car ... and goddammit, it looked like less than a quart spilled out of it.  Again, I kind of think that the engine was fine with the amount of oil it had.  But I believe what I saw with my own eyes, and despite putting in half a quart about six weeks ago ... shit, maybe they were right in saying that the car was starving for oil.

Fuckin' A, man.  I now have to check the oil pretty much weekly, starting now.  I need to understand how much oil my car is going through so I can fill it up as soon as it (apparently) begins getting starved for oil.  And that's assuming I can read what's on the dipstick.  And that is also assuming I can trust what's on the goddamn dipstick.  Because frankly, I sure fucking don't trust it!