Just sitting at my new desk, blasting some Joni Mitchell (sometimes your ears want what your ears want), munching on a cream puff and staring out the window at my sad little Toyota Corolla, which is a bit worse for the wear after tonight. I'm sorry car, you've been so good to me and I treat you terribly.
After a spur-of-the-moment decision to see if a massage therapist I occasionally see had any openings tonight - and finding out she miraculously did - I rushed out to retrieve my car from where it was safely slumbering in the garage. After the recent winter storm, I stashed it there and have been managing fine by foot or bus, but tonight I had to get to my treat.yo.self. (version 3) appointment in downtown in under thirty minutes, and the car was my best option.
My driveway is narrow in normal circumstances, but with all the snow we've had this winter, it's even more of a tight squeeze. For non-Northerners: there's nowhere to put the excess snow anymore, so the driveway is getting more narrow with each storm. It's one or two storms away from pointless.
When I opened the garage I groaned audibly at the crappy parking job I had done. My car was at an extremely odd angle - which is strange because my garage is also quite small, and my car just barely fits. So I'm not quite sure how I managed to get it parked in there so funny. Regardless, I knew it would take some skill to back out of my garage, and reverse (in cars or tractors) has never been my strength.
Which is how I ended up, in quick succession, slamming my side mirror into the side of the garage - snapping it nearly clean off - and then stuck in the snowbank alongside my driveway. Mirror down. Car stuck. In thirty seconds flat.
That does take skill.
And I had to laugh at myself as I treated my poor car terribly - rocking back and forth between reverse and drive until I unlodged myself. Once I got unstuck, and was safely in the road (fingers crossed no neighbors witnessed this absolute hot mess of driving), I barely even glanced at the sad mirror, hanging on by a single wire, cause I had to get to my massage.
And that folks, is how the modern gal prioritizes her self-care: her car and all other poor souls are at her mercy. Self-care: 1. Car and pride: 0.
That said, I drove the entire way to my massage laughing. Cause I am just that ridiculous. First my car window falls clean out two weeks ago (another story entirely), which I spend $700 to fix - and now I smack right into the side of my garage, thus requiring more money to go out of my self-care jar and into my annoying-unnecessary-expenses jar. But, I swear, I am chuckling.
In other news, this was a pretty fantastic discovery.
And in other, other news the Tegan & Sara show I went to last night was wonderful - it was so nice to be surrounded by a mostly queer community and to dance to some happy/sad/exuberant/emotive music. Fun despite running into a dude I dated for a hot second five years ago who, no joke, blurted out: "I'm married! And have a baby!" Nice to see you too, dude... Buh-bye, I gotta get my dance party on.
So, it's not all bad. The massage therapist said to me, post-massage: "Pain is a sign something needs to be adjusted." She was talking about my body, but I think it applies more broadly to life. So I'm adjusting, even if some adjustments put me right into a big bank of snow and snap my mirror in half. The thing about adjusting is you can always readjust from the point you have adjusted to.