Fire parte dos

Once there was a car.  Well, actually, it was a van or mini van or whatever they are called. 

One day the van was on its way home and it began to burn and smoke came out from under the hood and there was a terrible smell.  First came the smell and then the smoke and then the pulling off of the road and into the upper parking lot at McDonald's, way back behind the semi trailer trucks, just in case it burst into flames.

There were not any woodland creatures to gather around and watch, but there were two small buses of high school golfers who watched the smoke and nodded sagely, as only high school golfers can.

This week without wheels is going to be good practice for when I no longer have a car, which might be sooner than expected because I may have found a town in which to live.

I am not holding my breath, waiting for the good things to happen.  Doing that has been nothing but heartbreaking, or at least heartbruising.  I had exactly the same experience when I was holding breath, waiting for the bad and scary stuff to stop happening, which I finally gave up in favor of hope.  Frankly, neither one serves me and I finally just had to give it all up for Lent,or I would have were I still a Catholic.

I have a fire in my belly about what lies ahead, but I have this kind of death grip on whatever it will take to keep things under control.  It may be a big, fat bucket of water.  Or, it may not.

Like today. Between the stench, the smoke, the yelling (not by me, baby), the misdirections (also not me) and the rest, I may lose my damn mind.  Seriously.  I did, however, have a good breakfast and my bacon was perfectly cooked.

Lordy.