Heh. So I’ve had an interesting week thus far. On Monday, I filled up the oil (our car leaks/ burns/ somethings oil like a madmunchingoilmachine) in the Falcon. Then I head to work. After work, I take a co-worker home and go to put in more oil — which is when I discovered I had not put the oil cap back on. Doh!
So on Tuesday, I rode to work. John got off his job a few hours early and surprise met me at my job 15 minutes before I clocked off. We had a nice ride home (except for that jerk white Dodge truck in the left lane. Hello?! Left lane camper much?!? What did you gain by that, exactly, Mr. Dodge? What satisfaction or joy came into your life by endangering two motorcyclists?). I have found I really, really like riding after work, because my job is so just . . . ugh, and riding is a very effective (and admittedly somewhat dangerous) means of soothing the savage beast awakened by that company.
Then on Wednesday, it’s all icy and cold and awful out. John gets up at 6:45, same time as me, and goes and buys me a nice hot coffee at the shop down the street. Then he puts heaters in the car to warm it all up and defrost the windows, which he then scrapes clean of ice before adding more oil. As I start the car to pull out, I say to him, “I’m gonna need to fill up today, right?” (the gas gauge in the car is broken). John shrugs, and I quickly count off the days since we last filled the car — Saturday, and we’ve driven to and from Olympia (30 miles each way) three times since. So it’s time to fill up. John and I figure I can probably do it after work, so I head out. As I pass by the Shell on the way out of town, I think, “Maybe I should do it now . . . ” but quickly dismiss the thought. I’m already cutting it close.
So I get on the freeway. The commute from my house to work along Northbound I-5 is sadly deficient in exits. There are approximately 6 total along the 30 mile or so commute, 7 if you count the rest stop (where there are no gas stations), four of those being in the last five miles. In other words, for about 85% of the commute, you have two chances to stop for gas — one comes about 1 mile after getting on the freeway exit from my house, the other 8 miles later. After that, it’s 11 miles until the next exit.
And I run out of gas at about mile 7 — right when I see the signs saying, “Next Exit 1 Mile.” In fact, I end up parked right next to those signs on the side of the freeway while I wait for John. The Falcon died at 7:30, and it was icy and cold out. There’s no heater in the car, and I still had to wait another hour. Kidling isn’t allowed on the school grounds until 8 a.m., so John had to wait at least 20 minutes before he could walk Kidling to school, then walk home, gear up, strap a gas can onto the back of his motorcycle, stop at the Shell and fill it up, then ride the 15 minutes out to meet me. He arrived about 8:43. I spent the time reading Mansfield Park on my Nook and notifying work that I would be late.
So he arrives, all covered in ice (not joking; his visor was so icy he had to ride with it up, so his cheeks were chapped and bright red from the wind. His rainsuit had thin sheets of ice coating both arms. Icy fog sucks the hardcore.) and put the gas in my tank. Then he adjusted my choke, because I flooded the engine and shut it. Then he follows me to 88 and makes sure I have a full tank before heading out (yes, yes, I know. I have an awesome husband.). Finally, finally, I head to work, arriving a full hour and half late.
At work, I find out three people were fired yesterday, one quit on ethical grounds, and they’re hiring a new person for the division I work in. Also, they change my schedule again (I work office hours, 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. with an hour lunch. At least, I did for the first 5 months, unless they were dictating 10 hour work weeks, which they did for Christmas and Thanksgiving. Recently, they shifted my hours again, so now I work 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. with a 1/2 hour lunch. Then today they changed them again.) After work, I go to Costco to buy motor oil and discover, much to my dismay, that I have magically lost my debit card between buying gas in the morning and working like a fool all day. In looking for it, I also discover that my drivers license is expired.
So it’s just been one of *those* weeks. I’m surprisingly upbeat, though. Almost hypomanic, but not quite. Just . . . blase, I guess.