Me, Not B, and Tennessee

Last week was rough.  There is no way to get around it.  There is no overwhelming "bright side" to those 7 days.  They sucked, and I felt it.

B broke up with me on Saturday.  To be honest, it still doesn't make sense.  He sent me kissy faces one day and let me go the next.

On Sunday, I sobbed in front of strangers.

On Tuesday, after losing a volleyball game, I sobbed in front of a different set of strangers.  Who must've thought I took the game really hard.  I couldn't have cared less about it.

Thursday morning, I snoozed twice and then dropped my phone at just the right angle so that the screen cracked despite being in its (albeit broken) case.  I spent hours researching how to fix it.  I found out it would cost almost as much as what I originally paid for the phone.  My screen is still cracked.

Thursday night, I managed to do something wicked to my body that resulted in me not being able to lift or turn my right arm without enduring a biting pain in my shoulder.  This pain just stopped yesterday.

Friday was meant to be the beginning of something different.  Better.  I could feel it.  I desperately wanted things to be better.

I figured I'd head off potential problems before they happened.  That's a good idea, right?  So with an eight hour car ride ahead, I stopped by the dealership to have them double-check my AC, which had gone out earlier this summer, as well as anything else that might cause a problem.  They didn't even bother taking it into the shop.  "I can tell you right now that the AC is fine," the guy said.  "I don't want to charge you $99 to tell you that in an hour."  Don't argue with a professional, I thought.

So I picked up my friend J and we started our grand adventure, making it all the way to Picayune, Mississippi (about an hour) before the car starting shaking.  "Is that the car next to us or our car?" I asked J, who doesn't drive and therefore didn't have any idea.  I pulled over to the side of the road and got out to find that my back left tire had blown out.  And not just leaking air.  Completely dead.  Because of course.

I changed the tire, and then drove to the nearest Walmart, where I parked to have a technician look at it.  There, he explained to me the concept of dry rot and preceded to tell me how old all of my tires are before breaking the bad news.  I needed four new tires.

[I feel at this point that I should clarify that I am not a neglectful car owner.  My oldest tire--the one that blew out--was from 2007.  I bought my car in December 2006.  I have brought my car to the dealership at least once every two years for maintenance and upkeep.  At no point has someone told me that I needed all new tires, and being wholly unfamiliar with auto repair and maintenance, I never worried about it.  This being said, you can understand why I will likely never take my car to the regular dealership ever again.]

The technician told me the cost.  I cringed.  And somewhere in the course of our conversation, I told him about my week of mishaps.

"You know," he said, "they say misfortune comes in threes."

I thought about it for a second.  Boyfriend.  Phone.  Shoulder.  Tires (4 of them).  It seemed like I was already up to somewhere between 4 and 7 strikes by this point.

Naturally, J and I turned this into a game.  We kept a running count of strikes from the week, allowing for deductions if something very good happened.

Strike 1. Boyfriend defects

Strike 2. Phone screen breaks

Strike 3. Right shoulder does not function properly.  Makes driving stick for 8 hours very hard.

Strike 4. Tire blows out.  Takes longer to replace it than necessary because bottle jack purchased for such an occasion is 0.25 inches too tall to fit under the car.  Nasty stuff on my hands.  J takes a picture of this momentously unfortunate occasion and sends it to our friend.  Misery loves company.

Strike 5. Must replace all four tires.

Strike 6. Must spend an hour inside of Walmart carrying a heavy bag of perishable food and an iPad while trying to entertain self and J with various merchandise we will not actually purchase.  (Card aisle was especially helpful in passing the time.)  Will arrive at destination at least an hour later than expected.

-1 [Strike 5]. After getting back on the road, rain falls briefly and then a rainbow appears in the distance.  Later, another rainbow appears to our right side in a full arc.  A second rainbow then appears beside it ("DOUBLE RAINBOW!!!!").  A third rainbow appears on the interstate median while several rainbows appear in the mist following the cars ahead of us.  There are rainbows everywhere.  We get really excited about the rainbows and shout a lot.

Strike 6. Run into traffic.  Google Maps says this traffic will add an hour and sixteen minutes to our commute.

-1 [Strike 5].  Google is wrong.  Traffic lasts only 5 minutes.  Never been so glad for Google to be wrong.

Strike 6.  Google Maps says "25 more minutes."  The clock says "8: 13."  Google Maps says "You will arrive at your destination at 9:38pm."  Forgotten time zone change ruins previously happy moment.

-1 [Strike 5].  Hotel is awesome.  Room has a kitchenette, living room, bedroom with double beds, and a bathroom.  All nice, clean, and unexpectedly spacious.

-1 [Strike 4].  Front desk person suggests a nearby burger place called Urban Stack.  Google reviews gives it more than 4 stars.  Restaurant is only 4 blocks away.  Burgers are AMAZING.  We ask if they will open one in New Orleans.


After our burgers, we stopped counting strikes.  There was no point--we would've ended up in the negatives.  It was great to see my friends who lived in Chattanooga and their families and their beautiful one-month-old baby.  It was fun to drive up and down mountains. even if J almost had a heart attack every time we did.  It was neat to ride a rented bike to church Sunday morning, even if the priest spoke more like a Shakespearean actor than a real person.  It was exciting to hike the side of Lookout Mountain, even though it was midday, I forgot my hiking shoes in the car, and we accidentally climbed hundreds of rock steps to a parking lot that wasn't the one I parked in.  It was relaxing to eat and chat with friends on a deck outside a mountain cabin, and to take long naps between meals.  Walking across the river on a pedestrian bridge, eating ice cream, following the riverfront trail, basking in the 60-degree weather of Ruby Falls' cave.  It was all exactly what I needed.

I won't lie to you.  I thought about B.  I thought mostly about how much he would've loved the trip and the city.  So many things to do outdoors.  So many good burgers and barbecue and ice cream.  Midday naps.  Mountains.  Rivers.  Caves.  I could see him living there.

I felt sorry for him, that he paid for the experience but missed it.  And I felt sorry for us, for the shared experiences we missed.

The drive back was harder.  J and I were tired and had trouble finding things to talk about.  We both just wanted to be out of the car.  And I didn't realize until later, but as much as I wanted to be out of the car, I didn't want to be home.  Home is where B lives.  Home is where I'm sad.

When I got home, I let myself read old text messages between us and wonder if he was reading them, too.  I wondered how long before I'd be normal and dating again.  I wondered, if he showed up at my door, what I'd say.  I wondered how long it'd take to fix what was broken, if there was any way to fix it.  I fell asleep at 9:30, so I would stop wondering.

This morning, I slept late, waking up only for the locksmith (oh yeah, strike number whatever: my handle lock hasn't worked for at least a week) and to order a large pepperoni pizza for myself.  The kind that B and I used to get.

Work starts a week from tomorrow.  I'm trying not to think about it.  As much as I love my job, it comes with plenty of stress and responsibility and frustration.  Things I'd been relieved of for most of the summer.

On the bright side, I've got one last trip planned: beach with the family.  There'll be airbnb people at my house (so don't bother, robbers who somehow got my blog password).  More importantly, there'll be two babies at the beach whose smiles and games never cease to make me happy.  -1 strike.