Prepare for a bloody great rant.
This morning I woke up to quite a start. There was blood on my pillow. Lots of it. Being a bit puzzled by this, I looked about for where the blood might have been coming from. Nicely enough, it had managed to form a nice little line down the side of my face. Great. Good morning to me– I’m bleeding from my ear! Mind you, I’m not a doctor, or a nurse, or anything at all in the medical field. However, it occurred to me that perhaps that particular part of the anatomy is not supposed to bleed. Brilliant, aren’t I?
Ignoring the fact that my last assignment for graduate school was already late, I jumped in to my trusty car and drove to the doctor, who saw me rather quickly– it only took an hour for them to call me back. Good thing my ear had stopped bleeding. It only took a few minutes to figure out what was wrong. The patch put on my eardrum several years ago had started tear, dislodging a bit of scar tissue on its way. Expensive little bugger, but not something that can’t be dealt with. Even in America there is medical help, and I’m sure repairing the patch will be most amusing.
Braving the 21 degree wind chill with a sore, gauze-packed ear, I got back in my car. Cranking it was apparently a *very* bad idea. I’m also not a mechanic of any sort, but again, I knew something was wrong when my car made a sound like someone welding steel. This was due, in large part, to the fact that the car did indeed seem to be welding steel.
My low battery indicator came on, so I phoned a friend who *is* a mechanic. He said I would likely be able to make it to the mechanic’s shop before the battery died completely. Having faith in said friend’s abilities, I reversed the car. That’s when I noticed a suspicious looking part sitting amidst the dirt in the parking space my car had previously occupied. I thought it best to park again, but my car, having other plans, let me know quickly that it had no power steering. *I*, however, got an amazing workout in the triceps area, wrangling the bloody car back in to its spot. At this point, I was ready to dismantle the entire vehicle with my bare hands.
It’s funny– I was at a clinic, waiting for a tow truck, with a rather ominous looking *thing* in my hand that hand once been attached to my car. Immediately upon seeing the part, my mechanic knew exactly what had happened and told me the charge to fix it would be roughly $700. Nice. Considering I had already made an appointment to get my car two shiny new spark plugs and a seal of some sort, that makes my repair total something like $920. I’ll just have to hope they do work pro bono sometimes. They don’t, but I can still hope for it.
At this point, I keep wanting to glance an angry eye at the Universe and ask what It’s next plan for me happens to be. I can’t spend too long looking up, though. My crummy hearing, made worse by my broken eardrum would probably prevent me catching the train I’m waiting for since my car isn’t working.
I’m typically an optimistic person, and self-pity isn’t something I generally feel. I *do*, however, feel a sense of what I believe is righteous indignation. It’s been one of those days this year.