That stupid Pontiac Grand Am that's being constantly referenced.Both my arms were attached to me in August 2006 when this was shot;
now they've both been donated for repair & upkeep!
I am at my wits end with this stupid car - as well as virtually everything else in my life, save for the presence of my dear Sheila.
Again, this latest breakdown comes at the expense of going to a family event - this time my Aunt Sandy's layout at the funeral home in Wyandotte. I got my oil changed en route from work and found out I was a gallon-and-a-half short of anti-freeze. I let the car sit for an hour, got dressed, and headed out for the 15-mile journey. It stopped short by about twelve miles.
What happened? Some hose is acting up again, and all I get through the ventilation system is steam and an ugly anti-freeze odor that fogs up the windows too much to see clearly. The oil change experts say that the mechanic is needed for this one, or I might burn out the engine.
The car can burn for all I care now. This would be the fifth time in the last eight Fridays that the car is in the shop for something, and all that runs through my mind is: "When is enough, enough?"
I must have committed a darn freaky mortal sin for this bad luck to lay itself on me on such a consistent basis; not only for the car, but for everything else in life. I begin to wonder if someone is trying to send me a message that my lower-class *** (hint: the word rhymes) is having it too good. All work and no play (which is what I've had the last three months) is TOO good?
Work is getting worse: we've lost nine people due to injuries or termination since December 1. Again, I'm doing the work of three people when the room is staffed, and I'm abused worse the other half of the time. The budget is turned upside down every paycheck, and I can't keep up with bills. Half my earnings since November have gone to this car. Now I get ready for a whopper of a paycheck, and it's liable to be eaten up again!
Sometimes I wonder whether or not it would be easier for me to just admit defeat, quit the job, and live on the streets. This seems to be the message being sent to me: I must experience what the "low-lifes" (as society calls them) live through. And with what deed did I end up deserving this fate? None that I can think of.
I am not a quitter by nature these days. I don't roll through jobs like I once did. I work as hard as I can despite my physical limitations. I've dealt with transport problems before and suffered tremendous embarassment & anguish. I try to be nice and help people who need help. I sacrifice myself for the benefit of others much more often than not. I can't remember the last time I really enjoyed myself, if you take away the times Sheila has been here. I try to make good on as many bills as possible and have literally killed myself figuring out alternative budgets to make that happen, paycheck to paycheck.
And paycheck to paycheck is what I'm living by. Five years into that job, and I'm nowhere better off now than I was in 2001. This is not progress, this is relentless torture which has no end, and shows no advantage. Reminds me of the Iraq war we may never get out of.
The Good Book says we are never given more pressure to handle than the Man knows we're capable of. Have they issued a rewrite of that Good Book recently, and a copy wasn't sent my way?
I simply don't know what to do. I wish giving up was not an option at all. But to keep sanity in my frame, nothing can ever be ruled out.
Whatever I may have done, I am sorry. But I just want to live my life without bothering anyone, just conducting my business and doing what I can to survive.
Please tell me if I am wrong.
