eternal grey and rust

People keep talking about how the weather sucks but soon they'll be complaining about how it's too sunny out and at least we're not dealing with the aftermath of earthquakes and tornadoes or living next to the Mississippi.

And I wonder how much asbestos I've inhaled and lead I've ingested, wondering if there will be anything left of me. I wonder what will be messed up later on because of all the art-making now, all that turpentine, oil paint and lead-laced flux.



My car is starting to feel old too. It needs new breaks, an oil change, and the muffler that was already starting to go is now clanking against the trunk, the purr is now a roar and I'm hoping my it gets fixed before my sister had the kid because I know I won't get through the cracker suburbs without getting pulled over in the meantime.

I bought motor oil at Murray's last night and even though I totally know how to pour it into the engine myself, having done so weekly in the latter days of the Sexy Saturn, I was relegated to damsel in distress by an guy in the parking lot who told me what I already knew about car engines (admittedly not very much but still...)

While I insisted that I was okay and that it wasn't a big deal he said I needed a husband and gave me a card with his number in case I break down so I guess he can be knight in shining armor or something. Like heck, I'm going to call some random man I met in a parking lot when I'm in a position where I'm most vulnerable. Right.