Dear Diary . . . day by day

• Tuesday morning I wake after a night of horrible insomnia, decide to call in late to work, fail to move my car before 9am because of this, get inevitable 32 dollar parking ticket. I look forward to that evening when I can relax and watch the very special Buffy episode. Simple pleasures.
• Tuesday evening I attend yoga class in an attempt to destress, return to my car to find my rear license plate stolen, waste an hour and a half trying to report it, miss Buffy and end up staying up late to watch it on videotape later.
• Wednesday afternoon (same link) I get a parking ticket for not having a rear license plate (I hadn't looked at the ticket yet when I wrote that entry). I can fix this only by finding a police officer to sign my ticket, after proving I have new plates on my car.

I couldn't find the DMV right away. I ended up driving through El Cerrito's neighborhoods, stopping at stop signs and easing over speed bumbs. My car's warning lights started flickering, but, well, it does that. I noticed a cat in the road up ahead of me. It moved across the street slowly, and I turned my head to look at it as I pass, because I love cats and all that. It was a black cat, so black it was blue, without a tuft of white on its chest to save me from superstition.

My "check engine" light came on.

I found the DMV, rattled into the parking lot, parked it and turned it off quick before it could die and make me worry harder. I got out and stood dejectedly in front of my steaming hood. Bright green liquid dripped like acid snot, pooling on the 'crete under my engine.

A tall, statuesque woman about 10 years older than me with long red hair came clicking up to me.

"Oh, honey. That's your radiator; your car overheated."

"Uh-huh. What's that?" I point to the snot.

"Antifreeze...you (techincal babble). You can probably drive it a few blocks to the garage, but don't let them charge you too much for this just 'cause you're a woman. Tell them (more technical babble)..yeah, there's gonna try to get five hundred out of you for this, and don't you dare pay it...."

Later, as I was getting my plates and entertaining my nice DMV attendant with the story of my car this week (she loved my black cat tidbit) the tall redhead came back by to offer more advice. She exuded confidence, and I really liked her and felt like I knew her well. Then I realized what was so weird: she reminded me of me ten years from now. I always say I look forward to 40; maybe I decided to come back and guide myself through the end of this hellish week. I wonder if I remembered that I'd still be hopelessly poor with any mechanical stuff. This is only my second car, and I'm a reluctant learner when it comes to grease and oil.

G'night.