The new tires came in down at the Ford place. Good!
This is kind of unusual for me, buying tires from a car dealer instead of a tire store. I was all ready to plunk down $500 at nearby Garcia Tires (“Fastest Tires in the North!”), but their distributor didn’t have anything I wanted that would get here soon enough, and what they had in stock that fit were mystery tires. I don’t go with mystery tires unless I’m stuck in Fort Stockton or getting a used car ready to sell. Another place could but didn’t want to order what I was after and pimped a more expensive tire that they had in stock. Uh-uh. So I called the Ford place on a hunch — lots of cars, right? Sure, they could order tires and mount them for me, and their distributor had almost everything. Plus, they were cheaper. Maybe they use fake air or something.
My wife is driving the Vibe with the temporary spare. Sparingly, I should say (haha), because we just have to wait. The tires are here, thank God, but there wasn’t slack enough at the dealer to have them installed today. When I went in on Wednesday to look at their computer and pick out my tires (General Altimax HPs), there were about a dozen vehicles on lifts around the shop and one old guy scuttling around, so I shouldn’t wonder. I like the parts manager, though, and I know it’s all going to be all right, only not until Monday morning. Ah well.
That’s the little stuff. Very Taos. And now here’s where you come in.
This was a bizarro day, but pleasant. I could hardly believe it.
Because of what happened yesterday, I no longer feel oppressed by people shoving money in my face. But beyond that, I suddenly don’t feel guilty about being late. I’m calm. Why, I’ll just take care of things, is all. This is extremely disorienting, however! Is this the way you people live every day? How do you stand it? It feels so goddamn weird. You mean you go around at least some of the time not driven by guilt and just DO stuff?! And this is the looniest part: I sat down to work on someone’s website, and what needed to be done turned into something I wanted to do! AAAGHH!
(What kind of a place IS this? And what are all these people doing here?!?)
I am having such a hard life, after all. I’m 64 years old and wake up every morning to find my sweetheart in her bathrobe working a crossword puzzle in her mother’s chair in front of the woodstove with a cat on her lap. (She makes a pot of coffee for me before I get up.) Every now and then, something happens.
There must be half a dozen 13,000 foot mountains covered with snow within a 50-mile radius–I can see most of them from the mailbox. I get to look like a hoodlum and have a drink any time I want. I can take a bath. Boy, can I take a bath. I work on websites in between trips to the refrigerator and write blog posts, too. I seem to be healthy. We walked up the mesa this morning before the mud thawed and saw a bluebird. My tires are at the Ford dealer. I’m sitting here now in front of a shiny computer with punk rock from Germany thudding out of the speakers. Great guitar noise.
Momma never said there’d be days like this.
But then you knew that, right?
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