Carl's morbid flingo on new or not-so-new cars
My first instinct in writing this entry is to tell you Ye Most Tragick and Lamentable Historie of Carl's Car Troubles, about how many problems I've had with my pitiful excuse for a vehicle and how much aforementioned problems have cost. I could probably write for a couple days straight on how much I loathe the automotive gods. However, I'll just leave it at the fact that, in the most recent of a long line of similarly frustrating and beggaring incidents, I had to take my car in this week. It had been making this soul-wrenching screeching sound for about a week and when my friendly neighborhood mechanic took a look at it, he told me that the brakes were totally shot. Yikes.
This means that I had been driving with unreliable brakes for a week or more. It's moments like these in which I feel bitch-slapped by a sense of my own mortality. The brakes could have gone out and I could have died from ramming into a building or another car or something. Then it occurs to me that I could died from pretty much anything in the past week. Someone else's car could have lost control and killed me or I could have choked on a piece of food or a piece of airplance could have fallen to earth and shattered my head like grapefruit or I could have been struck down by a previously undetected brain tumor or a five-headed pig god could have turned the ground beneath me into quicksand because He (or She) disliked the way I trim my beard. It's only impossible until it happens.
It's the kind of thing that makes you think about how you're spending your days. I certainly could use my time more wisely. However, I feel like envisioning a five-headed pig deity with terrain-altering powers is a step in the right direction. And in a certain way I'm serious about that.
My first instinct in writing this entry is to tell you Ye Most Tragick and Lamentable Historie of Carl's Car Troubles, about how many problems I've had with my pitiful excuse for a vehicle and how much aforementioned problems have cost. I could probably write for a couple days straight on how much I loathe the automotive gods. However, I'll just leave it at the fact that, in the most recent of a long line of similarly frustrating and beggaring incidents, I had to take my car in this week. It had been making this soul-wrenching screeching sound for about a week and when my friendly neighborhood mechanic took a look at it, he told me that the brakes were totally shot. Yikes.
This means that I had been driving with unreliable brakes for a week or more. It's moments like these in which I feel bitch-slapped by a sense of my own mortality. The brakes could have gone out and I could have died from ramming into a building or another car or something. Then it occurs to me that I could died from pretty much anything in the past week. Someone else's car could have lost control and killed me or I could have choked on a piece of food or a piece of airplance could have fallen to earth and shattered my head like grapefruit or I could have been struck down by a previously undetected brain tumor or a five-headed pig god could have turned the ground beneath me into quicksand because He (or She) disliked the way I trim my beard. It's only impossible until it happens.
It's the kind of thing that makes you think about how you're spending your days. I certainly could use my time more wisely. However, I feel like envisioning a five-headed pig deity with terrain-altering powers is a step in the right direction. And in a certain way I'm serious about that.
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