Re-reading the brochure from the MVA about emissions testing and the waiver, I’m suddenly not so sure that expenses made attempting to deactivate the check-engine light would be to be applied, since they’re not (technically) “emissions related”. I’m going to call tomorrow from work to double-check.
The car is getting dropped off at Ed’s at 8am, and Gary’ll be giving me a ride into work. He scheduled me to drive, then told me I’d be driving his Jeep, and that I wouldn’t be getting mileage. Fair enough, since I’m driving his vehicle, anyway.
I keep telling myself that everything is going to work out fine. Ed’ll fix the car, and by five o’clock I’ll be through emissions and laughing at how worried I’ve been. Or if he can’t, I’ll get the waiver. Or if I can’t get that, I’ll get another extension and have the car back to Ed’s for more repairs.
But I’m growing increasingly concerned and apprehensive that despite the fact that my car runs great, looks great, and still has one hundred and thirty-thousand plus miles to go, despite the fact that it’s paid off and I really really really don’t want a car payment, that I might be put in the position where I’ve got no choice but to get a new car, or have no income.
I’m not doing to good at sticking to my diet this week.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Last night, I was made to feel like Poland. Like Poland with the Germans blitzkrieging in one way, and the Soviets storming down the other. Like Poland with a horse cavalry, and Germans with their luftwaffe and the Soviets with their fifty-nine-billion man army. Like Poland I sobbed and begged for my life.
Last night I was introduced to Magic … the Gathering.
Mr. Marcellus was kind enough to extend an invitation to join him and friends in playing the game (one of them being this dude). I think he thought I’d played before, but even after I admitted to him I hadn’t, he still invited me (which was classy of him). I didn’t quite get much of a handle on what was going on with the game, except by the end of the night I was able to draw cards pretty well. I get the feeling this is one of those games you’ve really gotta play a lot to get a strategic feel for. On my drive home up I-83, I was thinking that I was in a similar situation to U.S. Army Commander U.S. Grant … if he’d been brought forward in time a hundred and thirty years.
“Okay, so … let’s use the nuke, here.”
“Sir, that might not be a good idea.”
“Why? This is where the enemy’s forward snipers and observers are!”
“Yeah, but that’s a total of six people … and this nuke can toast, shit, Atlanta ten times over — it’d make Sherman proud, sir, but it’s really not a weapon to take out six people with.”
or …
“Okay, air strike … here.”
“Can’t sir, because of this.”
“What’s that?”
“Sir … that’s an anti-air battery.”
“…?”
“They’ll shoot down our planes before they get in range. What we need to do is send in tanks and infantry to clear the battery, then call in the air strike.”
or …
“Hey, where’d that convoy in the Atlantic go?”
“Er … they probably got sunk by the enemy subs in the area, sir. Didn’t you deploy an escort destroyer?”
“Uh … should I have?”
“Well … yes. That’s what they’re there for, sir.”
It was fun, even if I had no idea what I was doing.
**
Dinner was from Michael’s Pizza on Eastern Ave. — I know, I know … pizza? — and it is the only pizza company I know of that doesn’t put pizza in boxes, instead, sandwiching them between two big paper plates. That’s a little odd, but then again, I’m Mr. Suburb, so what do I know? Also — no pineapple? Pineapple makes for good pizza pie.
