02.14.2002 - 10:34 a.m.

Last night I got in my car to go visit a friend. Immediately realized I should get gas first. Went to the gas station, filled up in front of the air pump. Remembered that my dad had noticed how low my front tire looked when I drove up over the weekend. Pulled in front of the pump. Dug the tire gauge out of the back of the glove box, crouched next to the driver�s side tire (not the low one). It said 23. Like 8 pounds low, ridiculous. It hasn�t been that long. Figured I�d just done it wrong- I have a hell of a time getting it on straight- so I did it again. Fifteen pounds. Fuck. Again. 21. Well, at least that was closer to the first time. Went over to the low tire. Fifteen again. Could not get it to say more than fifteen. Fuckity-fuckfuck. Back tires? More strange readings. I wasn�t doing it right, I knew it. Went over to the pump- maybe it had a gauge at the end of the hose, like at the Exxon at home. It didn�t, but it was one of those deals where you dial in what you want the pressure to be, and it�s supposed to ding when it gets there. Put in 31 and started on the driver�s tire. It went forever. Ditto on the passenger tire. I�m not terribly sure I even got the pump on right. Gave up, went home. Gas stations at night creep me out when I�m alone.

My passenger tire�s in bad shape- it�s had a slow leak for a while (you�d think I�d be better at the gauge thing now, but I�m not) and sitting next to it while the pump did or did not fill it like I wanted, I had the opportunity to note all the cracks in the rubber near the hubcap. Not good. Dunno if it�s really even safe. I should probably be keeping my cellphone in the car all the time. My brain starts doing sums: coupla hundred per tire, four hundred-odd in insurance last month, new contacts ASAP, rent, utilities, the grocery bills the roommate and I haven�t split yet, my first payment for health insurance so I can afford the contacts, dentist appointment which I imagine will involve at least one filling and maybe a final, expensive verdict on my wisdom teeth, my god rent�

I don�t know if I have it all. I don�t fucking know. My parents, although they raised me to be independent, would help if I asked- give me a loan for the tire, or float me an insurance payment- but I know I won�t ask. Which is probably dumb. If I put any of it off for too long, I�m so screwed. And I�m trying to fucking save money here.

I guess I�m still sorta upset about it- that�s a lot more fucks per paragraph than I usually use. I don�t know what to do. Or I do, I have to pay the bills and get the tire and the contacts, maybe disposable ones this time, which works out to be more expensive but less at a time, I have to put the dentist off for another month. I have to learn how to fucking gauge tires. I have to not go out anywhere until sometime in May or buy anything I don�t absolutely need ever again.

It sounds ridiculous and escapist and very, very pathetic, but there are times when I just want to be fifteen again and have my parents do all the hard stuff.

-stonebridge

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