/a/muse(d)

My poor gold (read: poo brown) car died today. Apparently it isn’t all dead, but the distributor is not as sparky as it should be, or not sparky at all according to the slightly unfriendly NRMA man. The tow truck man, who was much more personable, said not to worry too much, but I can’t help thinking that 900 dollars spent on repairing a car that is probably not worth that much, over the space of a month, cannot be a good way to spend our money. I am left with the quandry: fork out some money for a new car, or continue to repair this one until we go broke. I think I have made a decision, although Bangladesh vs new car is a hard call. Maybe this one will hold on just a teeeny bit longer?

Anyway, the incident with the car let me experience the joys of breaking down in peak hour traffic on a very busy main road, the elation when someone came to help me unbidden, the frustration of finding out that the NRMA membership web application, although free at the moment for under 25 year old drivers, doesn’t become useful for five days after application, and the surreal weirdness of talking to a tow truck driver about Islamic tradition, marriage, bad 80s fashion and people who can and can’t drive. It was also embarassing to burst into tears when talking to my dad on the phone, trying to work out what to do. I mean, I’m supposed to be an adult who is able to take care of my own problems without my daddy, but somehow, the care and solidarity (and car-wiseness) of my father won out, and I found myself blubbering away while cars honked and people glared at me blocking the turning lane and talking on the phone.

I missed my lecture, needless to say, although I’m sure one less person in the class would have made it easier for my lecturer (who appears to be violently allergic to everything), to breathe.

I’m exhausted already.