I give my dad my car for a week so he can fix my radiator. He said that it was basically a case of trial and error; so far he’s tried refilling the fluids and flushing it. That’s it.
Well, I get my car back and it runs fine for a couple days. Then I go to Brooks (a fifteen minute drive) to pick up my sister, and holy fucking shit, my car overheats. WHAT IS THIS FUCKERY?
I call my parents, and they’re like “Well if you weren’t in the road all the time, then maybe we could fix it.” One: Whenever I’m “in the road” it’s going straight to work and back, not a long drive and Two: I can’t fucking be on the road in the first place because my god damn car is a piece of shit and you didn’t fix it in the first place.
I’m furious. They’ve done the “flushing” shit three times, and it hasn’t work. Time to try something else perhaps? I’m getting so frustrated that I’m tempted to pay for it myself and just get it fixed at a shop.
And you think they’d realize how dangerous a car overheating is; if it overheats, it could potentially blow up, total my car, and kill the fuck out of me. But noooo, it’s no big deal. Let her car blow up in her face, she deserves it for being in the road all the time anyways, right?
My parents are too unreliable. Now I have to drive to work in a car that could potentially explode at any given second.
However, on the bright side, I had a great lunch with Dane’s mom today, then went and got my nails done. WOOHOO.
“For now she need not think about anybody. She could be herself, by herself. And that was what now she often felt the need of — to think; well, not even to think. To be silent; to be alone. All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.”—Virginia Woolf,To The Lighthouse. (via fuckyeahvirginiawoolf)