What is my story is that because of the latest episode of Jerry Springer live from Hampton County SC and because I am
an idiot a soft touch (soft in the head), my beautiful minivan (with six CD changer/sunroof/beepers-when-you-almost-hit-someone) is sitting in Varnville (or Nixville or Miley or Podunk) with a dead battery. Not, give me a charge, will you? dead, but dead dead dead... or so I hear. While I have no reason to distrust somebody's cousin's husband's brother who is a mechanic and says the battery should RIP, I have less reason to trust him. I am thinking of a "new" used transmission a few years ago. (Same town, different people). I'm wondering if there is an electronic damper or old Indian burial ground in the county which causes these problems. You would think one of us would learn.
So now, aside from the usual work in the country (corporate, partnership, and personal tax return extensions run out soon), a payroll (mine --- yeah!) and monthly reports at the church, getting my baby to MEGGS & AAP testing sites, completing my sister's July reports, cleaning my house because Mark's new teacher wants to make a home visit (can you just say no?), selling the house we used to live in and the kids aren't living in any more, getting rid of kittens...
Now, we have to figure out how to pay for a battery two hours from here when I can pretty much guarantee no one will loan Katy the money and let us mail them a check. So we are talking Western Union or even a freaking trip to that godforsaken county.
I am not feeling very holy, very loved, very nice. But quite frankly, even when I did do everything to make people happy, I still didn't feel holy, loved, or nice enough. It never is enough and being an enabler is no way to make a living.
And for some reason the song "No more Mr. Nice Guy" is playing in my head and that is so unlike me, I had to google the lyrics to figure out who sang it. And I found this picture, which looks a whole lot like me this morning: