Yeah, it’s Saturday. We’ve established that my posting is out of whack this week. I’ve been waiting for enough life to happen to trigger writing. It’s been two-and-a-half(ish) days of waiting and I’m ready to go. Let’s do it:
Not completely sure what’s going on with my new friend. I think I messed it up by sharing too many of my thoughts. Feeling so encouraged overwhelmed me, and I was transmitting my own abnormalities to a stranger. Can’t blame him for catching the overwhelms. So, I spent my Friday evening feasting on empanadas and contemplating my life. It was a solid night.
When I was in Michigan last weekend, I was sitting in my parents’ living room with the two of them, one of my sisters; her husband (happy birthday David!), and their kids. It was Sunday and we were lounging, talking, napping, and planning. Come to think of it, those might be our go-to family hobbies. So, during a planning spurt, I asked the room what I should write about on the following day. My dad and my brother-in-law told me that I should write about my cats. And, I laughed at them.
I don’t usually broadcast the fact that I am a single lady who lives by herself. Cut that in half, and that’s usually how often I admit I have not one, but two cats. Throw in my intensity (crazy synonym)… you get where I’m going here?
But yes, World, I have two cats.
And, because everything in my life is a direct result of all my past decisions, guess whom I adopted these cats with? It didn’t seem as odd to have two cats (actually, three back then) when I was living with a boyfriend. Holy cow, why is that so weird to say? “Living with a boyfriend” I really did that? What?? Eesh. Anyway. I am a crazy cat lady, literally. I only use this word when something is legitimately literal. I love cats. It’s a thing. It’s weird. Whatever.
What’s weirder is that I am incredibly allergic to them. Seriously. I’ve lived with at least one cat since I was four years old. Before I went to college, I had a scratch test done by an allergist. I don’t remember why I had to get one, but it happened. Anyway, 17 years old and I find out that I have a severe cat allergy. I’d grown up thinking there must have been secret mold in my house or that it was normal to sneeze all the time. Who knew? Now I take allergy medicine every day so that I can breathe in my tiny one bedroom apartment. I love cats, man. It’s not hard to take a pill or blow my nose. I don’t mind, and it came in handy today. Guess it’s all worth it now.
A few months ago, I got a card in the mail telling me that my car is due for an emissions test by the end of April. Then, my catalytic converter was stolen. Then I was sad, and avoided life for a little bit. I got the converter replaced a month ago. Today is April 14, and suddenly I have 15 days left to have the test done.
The nearest testing facility is six and a half miles away. If you do not live in the city of Chicago or are not familiar with what it’s like to drive here, know that for a lot of every day, it can take you an hour to drive six miles. The emissions place opens at 7:30, the line of cars waiting starts before they open, and traffic will get grosser as the day progresses. Fun fact: my last apartment was right across the street from what used to be the only emissions testing facility in the city (it’s since closed). The big window in our living room looked out at the place, and we knew which times of the day we wouldn’t be able to get our cars through the street lined with cars waiting to enter the parking lot. All of this to say, I KNOW the best time to take your car for an emissions test is right when they open. I also know that when I get out of work at 4:30 on a weekday, it would probably take me two hours, one way, to get to the facility. My only option is to wake up early on a Saturday morning to just do the thing.
Once I was pretty certain that my Friday night was going to be uneventful (except for the empanadas and news watching—scary times with Syria) I knew that I should probably have my car tested this morning. But, who wants to leave their bed at 6:30 on a Saturday morning when they really don’t have to? No one.
This morning at 6:30, one of my cats jumps on my bed and starts yelling at me. The other cat usually does that during the week for work, but the three of us have an understanding about the weekends. Plus this morning it was Tilly, and she knows better. Crazy cat lady, yes.
So, I wake up and get out of bed. I really like driving when there’s actual driving involved and you’re not parked on the expressway. Coldplay was singing to me, I didn’t mind doing this once I’d ripped the Band-Aid off. I was feeling proud of myself for not, completely, waiting until the last minute to do this– life was good.
And then my car was rejected from the test. Kid you not, that’s the word they used. I didn’t fail the test, but I was rejected because—get this—I haven’t driven my car enough since taking it to the mechanic to have the catalytic converter replaced. The guy proceeded to tell me that I have to do heavy driving (expressway) for at least a half an hour for seven days. Guys, I walk to work. Sometimes I drive to Target. Target is maybe a half-mile away. I work or sleep or am social during all the times the freeways are drivable– except weekends, and I only have a couple of those left before my test deadline.
So that’s where I’m at with that. Anyone want to rent my car for a week? Road trip? Help.
Mercury goes direct tomorrow, ya’ll. Almost there. Today, I’m thankful my cat knew what was up and got me out of bed to start problem solving.