I have thought it was Friday all day today … even though I pulled the trash bin to the curb last night and heard the trash truck this morning, a sure indicator that it’s actually Thursday. Yeah, my mind just isn’t functioning at 100% this week.

I moved the Dart from the driveway over to its usual parking space on the grass by my den window and put the plastic tub back under it. Since I put that under there a while ago, it’s collected a few tablespoons of gas. Most of it is still evaporating away as it leaks out, and after crawling under it and looking at it again, there’s no doubt now that the leak is well up between the gas tank and the trunk. That’s not something we can fix ourselves, and I suspect that having someone else do it would cost more than I want to pay. The smell of gasoline coming through the open window is oh so very delightful. I guess I have to close the window. Inhaling gas fumes can’t be good for you.

I sat on the porch for a while staring at the stupid car earlier … weeping. I’m sure the neighbors think I have finally lost my mind. I don’t really care. They are all crazy-insane anyway. I might as well join the club. I’m not wanting to part with my Dart. It’s sort of like saying goodbye to my dad all over again. Just thinking about it makes me cry. I guess I am crazy. No one should be this attached to a stupid old car that they used to hate with a white hot passion. No, really … I used to HATE that car. It was a pain in the butt to drive, it sucked down gasoline, and it was old and busted. When given the choice of walking somewhere or driving the Dart, I’d always choose to walk. My loathing of that car ran deep. That’s how I felt about it until my dad died, and I inherited it. Then suddenly it was the most wonderful car in the world. That’s what sentimentality will do to you … make you love things you used to hate.

I’ve decided tomorrow to go ahead and drive it around town. There’s an HEB in the same shopping center as the pet store and Sears I need to go to, so one trip. Surely I won’t manage to blow myself up on one short 5 mile trip. I’ll just park far from everyone else so no one tossed down a burning smoke and sets something ablaze. Just one more stupid thing to stress about. Let’s see … the brakes might fail, the power steering might go out, and the damn thing might blow up. Wheeee! You’d think it would be easy for me to hate that damn car, but it just isn’t. As far as my heart is concerned, that car is a direct representation of my dad, and that gas smell always reminds me of him (see, I told you it’s always smelled that way). Aside from his clothing and a few stacks of art work, that car is the only thing he left behind. It’s so full of memories.

I’m going to go cry some more. Not like that’s helping anything at all, but I’m just so miserable about this there’s little else I feel like doing but sitting around blubbering and sniffling.