My car is driving me insane.

It started out that the engine would shut off even while driving with no forewarning. Then it stopped idling. Now it is idling rough with a serious engine knock.

With the help of K, we've replaced the front O2 sensor after a code threw twice on it, checked the spark plugs, checked the fuel pump, replaced the throttle sensor, replaced a collapsed vacuum hose AND replaced the ignition coil.

After each replacement the first test drive has the car running smooth and slick with more horsepower and get up then before, but after that it's right back to square one after starting it a second time.

I look like a grease monkey, but I will admit that I've had a lot of fun poking around in the engine. Nonetheless, I want the ol' girl to get back up off the sick bed and DRIVE.



I haven't written at all today on my stories. Gar! I need to write, I have deadlines.

NC State Free Hugs!


I love my town.

I am insane.

That is all.

*This entry has nothing to do with flying toads.

When you first begin working in a new office, everything seems bright and (hopefully) much nicer than your previous place of employment.

As time goes on, you begin noticing the little idiosyncracies of the building and equipment. This is normal.

If, however, you happen to work the night shift alone and have an over-active imagination...

You first go about your office in a state of bliss. "I have a new job, hurrah!" Eventually, a routine sets in and you begin to notice the office is, due to normal wear and tear, not as shiny and spiffy as you had originally thought.

Perhaps it begins with the carpet.

There are spots where the carpet appears slightly bunched up or loose. Perhaps there is even a slight tear. Of course, being a staunch realist, you know this is because of the hundreds of feet that tramp daily across the carpet in a myriad of sadistic footwear (take, for instance, high heels).

If, however, you are over-imaginative the carpet lumps take on an entirely different meaning. Suddenly, they are secret tunnels by which the office gnomes travel as they go about their secret office gnome business (which, if only your boss would believe you, involves deleting the important work that you swore you did on time*)

*Note: As I am perfect, I deny ever having an instance where my work was late.

After the carpet, perhaps you notice some smudges on the wall. Perhaps, in addition to smudges, there are also dings and scrapes. Perhaps a dent as well. As a staunch realist, you understand that these are also due to the large quantity of people that traverse the halls carrying/pulling/pushing assorted (also sadistic) luggage/boxes/files/dead bodies (no, wait...)

If, however, you are over-imaginative: You begin to wonder if perhaps this particular banged up hall was the site of an epic battle (office gnomes vs...?) Perhaps your company is actually in the business of cloning dinosaurs that were loose one weekend and had a battle royale in this very place.

...Of course, they would have to be very small dinosaurs.

BryM's rant about Miss Bigglesworth spewing up cat hairballs on the carpet instead of the tile brought to mind a few irritating aspects about my own furry "children".

Sam:

As many of you know, Sam is my german shepherd. He's going on three years old now and still seems to retain the puppy ability of occasionally confusing me and driving me irrationally insane.

He has recently decided that when I take him out for his interval walks to use the bathroom, that he will not under any circumstance do what he is outside to do. After three flights of stairs to get downstairs, he mills around on his leash and feigns interest in anything from a blade of grass to the stars overhead. As a result every night I now have to trudge back up three flights of stairs only to be interrupted during dinner by him doing a frenetic potty dance fifteen minutes later.



Patchouli:

Patchouli is the most recent pet addition to my household. He's shy of a year old and is probably the most stubborn feline I have ever been owned by.

This past month he has decided that the entire household needs to know when he uses his litterbox. As it is housed in the bathroom that connects to my bedroom, I'm aware of this action of his at all hours of the night.

He will meander casually down the hallway while meowing softly. As he nears the bathroom his yowls increase in pitch and volume until, finally ensconced in the litter box, he emits such earpiercing squeals while retaining the most confounded look of concentration that I have ever seen cross the contenance of a house cat.

BryM, if our pets ever met it would be the doom of our combined households.