Much Madness is Divinest Sense

Well, I was able to get some transportation. We bought a minivan, which is something we needed. It is a Pontiac Montana. I have been reading reviews online. Hm. The only thing I can say is it’s a GM car, and there you go. It’s supposedly got great gas mileage for a minivan, though. I really want this sucker to be reliable. One guy said if you keep up with the regular auto maintenance, you should be fine.

I am so tired. Buying a car takes forever, and it’s so stressful. They didn’t want the Buick, so I guess I’ll have to sell that for parts or scrap.

Man, I got home to discover my students had freaked out. Only four of them came by to discuss tomorrow’s test with me, but somehow a rumor got started that there were eight essay questions on the test, when in reality, there are five discussion questions (one paragraph a piece). They need to choose five from eight choices. Of course I got back too late to answer any of their e-mails, but you know, I was at school all day, and I only taught one period. All anyone had to do was come by and ask.

Well, I’m off to bed. Stupid car.

Before I go on, I admit I stole the title for this entry from one of my students’ Walt and Emily stories. She told me her mother gave her the idea for it. Whatever the case, it is not my title, but it is a very good title, and it is deadly accurate, too.

This morning, I drove to Henry County to meet my ex-husband so Sarah could visit her daddy this weekend. I’d say I was about a mile or a half mile from the I-75 exit which is home to the Chick-Fil-A where we usually meet. The check engine light on the car started blinking. That’s odd, I thought. Then the car started lurching. Okay, stay calm. Why does this shit always happen when I am driving and have at least one kid with me? Thank goodness I didn’t bring Maggie along, or I don’t think I’d be in one piece right now.

I managed to make it to the exit and pull into the Chick-Fil-A. The car died right there in the parking lot. I couldn’t get it to start again. My ex helped me get it into a parking spot. I called a tow truck. Then I tried to call Steve, but my cell phone died. Great. That was the number I gave the towing service. I called them back using my ex’s phone so I could let them know what happened to my phone.

We all went inside the Chick-Fil-A and waited for the tow truck. It arrived about an hour later. The tow truck driver was a Bubba if I’ve ever seen one. Large round belly. Worn out overalls. Thick country accent. He talked my ear off the whole way to the repair shop. He wandered dangerously into other lanes, earning at least one honk from another motorist before he finally hit someone. We waited what seemed like forever for the whole accident report deal. At least no one was hurt. He chatted with me about his court date and all that mess — didn’t want to hear it — and we managed to make it in one piece to the repair shop.

The mechanics couldn’t look at it for a few hours (can they ever?), so Dylan and I — I forgot to make it clear Dylan was still with me — hopped on the bus and went home. Not too long ago, the mechanic called and told us we need a new engine to the tune of $2000-3000, which is probably more than the car is worth.

So I have to try to convince someone to sell me a car this glorious holiday weekend. Bleh. I hate being poor, and I hate having bad credit.