But I got to watch a meteor shower last night and Mama Bird fixed my shoes and my rolly cart basket. I mean, she found those items in the dumpster but then she came to my front door presenting them back to me good as new. The shoes were one thing, but the basket was entirely another. The wheels came off while Willie was taking home groceries--and just so we're clear, it's one of those wheeled baskets that old folks use, not like a shopping cart or anything--and here's Mama Bird with my basket good as new saying "I took some wheels off of an old scooter and the front wheels came from some roller blades."
How handy is she? Right? She may be a hoarder but when she says "If it can be fixed don't throw it out" she fucking means it. She's a little bad ass. It is very good here where I live.
I am also grateful for the new friends I made by asking a Facebook group if anyone would like to help with my route. The people helping me are also fixing my car, which does not need a clutch, and does not need a slave cylinder like Kip the neighbor boy said, it's actually a tiny dime sized plastic piece that connects the hydraulic line to the slave cylinder that I can only get through the dealership, and that I can only get by ordering the whole hydraulic line.
Pick A Part is not out of the question. But it is difficult to want to head out there when we aren't sure the car they have in their inventory is a stick or an automatic.
Everything is becoming a mission.
And see, I wouldn't have wasted time with the slave cylinder if Kip had taken the time to actually take the part off and see that the leak was coming from this other tiny piece. And I wouldn't complain about the fact that he is just trying to help if he hadn't knocked on my BEDROOM WINDOW the next morning at 9 AM. I get eagerness, I get helpfulness. I do not get what he did not understand about DO NOT DISTURB BEFORE 11. 9 AM is my 3 AM. Though I may be awake before 11 and usually am most days, I don't do people until that time. So Kip is now on my shit list.
I made the mistake of using the bathroom at the DC last night and Dorothy asked if I fell in when I came out.
"No Dorothy, just taking a really long shit because I had some dairy today and I don't digest it well. Would you like to know what color it was? Should I have taken a picture?"
She was not expecting the response I gave.
I kind of hit the ludicrous speed button on that one, didn't I?
I have not had much time to do my regular activities that I enjoy and that keep me joyful. I'm not sure that I mentioned here that I picked up cross stitch just before the move but I would like some time to do this, and have had none. It is too hot to knit. I am too tired to read. The only thing I do right now is write here on occasion and I really don't feel like I'm doing it in any sort of artistic release sort of way, I'm more bitching and updating, which seems like I am robbing myself of time. But it doesn't feel like a waste of time either. I have to do this. Writing is what I am on the inside.
But as I said in the last post, things tend to come together and I seem to always have what I need, even if we're struggling and struggling. This is not a hand out life. We hustle. We hustle and we bustle. And we never stop moving. While I was out throwing Sunday papers, Willie was attempting to ride a razor scooter from Yucaipa to Redlands to get to work for his first day of head chef training. The wheels melted coming down Crafton Hill. Like, melted. And Willie Dean hit the ground. He is lucky he didn't break anything, and though he had rocks stuck in his shirt his chest wasn't even red. And then he walked to work the rest of the way. It is 11 miles total from our house to his work.
Story of our lives, fellas. Running the scooter into the ground and getting back up again. Unlike that bitch David and his weak collar bone. Seriously, fuck that guy anyway. I don't intend to bitch much about the guy but when I asked if he could send them home with school shoes it wasn't because I wanted to deal with the hassle of asking him for anything for his kids, it's because I genuinely needed those for them. It's two days before school and I'm sending them in the uniforms the school had me come pick out of the consignment sale before they put everything out and until about an hour ago I was trying to figure out how I was going to get somewhere to get them backpacks and school supplies, when the front desk lady at the school called and said she'd bought them backpacks and school supplies.
The school helps us because they know the situation, and my kids have perfect attendance and always make honor roll. Willie and I try to be great parents. We don't always have all the resources together, and the school knows this.
Now we just need to walk to Payless to get the shoes.
And the thing is I'm fine with Payless. Who isn't fine with Payless?
David tells me "I went to Payless twice while they were up here."
"Yes because you stepped on their shoes and destroyed them twice. They told me. And these aren't school shoes, they're flip flops. And they hurt his feet."
Because this isn't the first time that David has failed with shoebuying.
"You know, you could send them with a gift certificate for the shoes. And not that I owe it to you, but I could send you a receipt to prove that they were used to buy kid shoes, simply because I don't want you to continue withholding from them because you think I'm spending it on me."
Needless to say, I need to get to the Payless.
Needless to say he's $900 behind in support again after they went after his tax return to recover $1700 in May.
Needless to say my bike has been getting plenty of use but it also has a flat tire, and I am pretty tired.
I am pretty stinking tired.
I'm on a bitching mission.
Once I get back to having time to do things again, I'll be on a stitching mission.