Bow To the Target Blame

For the last few weeks, I've been driving around with a car that throws hissyfits and shuts itself off in traffic, repeatedly getting the same tooth fixed because neither dentalwork nor BandAids stick to me, working on a PC that only plays music in 4:33 segments and a laptop with a dead disk drive, and I might be a little testy about all of it. Yesterday, I drove home on a flat tire and I couldn't even be annoyed. At least, I was going to get a nap. Which I did. It was full of delicious sleeping, which is what we nap-takers and nap-havers enjoy about naps. Fuck that flat tire. I had logs to saw.

You: But but but - Ta darling, you can't do that!
Tata: Watch me!

Not only do all the tires occasionally flatten themselves for the hell of it, but the front ones will not re-inflate unless the car's jacked up. Pete figured that out. I figured out I could add air to my tires until I ran out of quarters and nothing changed, so last night, Pete jacked up the car in a light rain and re-inflated the tire I could not. And a good thing he did because the rear tire on the passenger side was flat this morning, just for fun. Fortunately, I was in a hurry and had just polished my nails, so I was highly motivated to limp to the gas station and wreck my plans.

Events have been like this for about six weeks. I've been too busy to even complain, which is ridiculous. I am an absolute champion complainer, and I'm neglecting my sport. Maybe I just have to complain faster, because at this level, one slip and the competition'll take me out. Oh, all my beautiful Evil!