Yesterday was a tad stressful, what with the whole ‘car dying on the road' thing and the ‘have to find a way home' thing. Having a vehicle just quit working is a puzzling and angst-generating happenstance. I’ve been through worse stresses, but not lately, so it kind of kicked my butt.
Which is why that lil’ itchy rash on my chest was chalked up to stress-related hives…which I HAVE NEVER GOTTEN BEFORE. But hey, stress can do weird things, my hormones are for shit so who KNOWS what beauties I might generate through anxiety alone? Stranger things have happened.
But then…
The rash spread. From my collarbone down to my belly and up to my neck it spread. That rash crept around inflaming itch sensors and histamine receptors until pretty much all I could think about was ‘oh for FUCK’S SAKE I itch! Stress sucks!’
Only it was, and is, not stress. Heavens no, for that would mean a fast resolution of torturous pruritus (that’s fancy med-speak for ‘being itchy’). No, what this awful rash is, in fact, a gift from Albert The Cat to me, a schmear of poison ivy juice from his nimble little all-weather bod onto mine…the result of ‘shooing’ him (through direct corporal interaction) out of our bedroom yesterday morning right after I’d had my shower and, yes, before I’d gotten dressed.
Friends, there is a cat-shaped poison ivy rash on me, from my neck to my ribcage.
That damned cat is therefore getting a bath tonight, whether he wants it or not. That’ll learn him.
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Tinkerbell is in grave condition, y’all. When she throws a fit, she throws it BIG.
How big? 800 BUCKS big, is how.
Ouch.
Eeyeah. Something about a crankshaft sensor whatevermabob that needs replacing but that to replace requires the wholesale eviction of lots of belts and geegaws and shit that of course will need to be replaced because once you stretch ‘em you can’t unstretch ‘em.
Ah well, the timing belt needed to be replaced anyhow. 60K miles is about all you can expect offa one, and Tink’s gone through about 80K since she was kitted out with the last one. It was only a matter of time, really, before urping up a big chunk of my monthly income was going to have to happen.
800 bucks. Goodbye, savings account. You were pretty swell there for a while.
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Guess I’d better make darned good use of that Lovely New Jeep Compass it looks like I’m going to be driving for the next few days. Nothing parties like a rental! 4-wheeling, anyone? Doughnuts in the highschool parking lot? Come on, I bought the rip-off insurance just so I could drive with the impunity of a 90-year old! Who’s with me?
Meet me at the WalMart at 6. Until then, have a grand day.
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