So part of the arrangement James and I made was that we’d pay off my car. There’s not much left on it, like a thousand bucks, and it’s one more bill I don’t need.

The car apparently got wind of this somehow, and activated the self destruct, because today, as I was coming down an off-ramp enroute to the farmer’s market,* the engine suddenly roared like an injured bear.

“Oh, dear,” I thought, “my vehicle is malfunctioning. How inconvenient,” which came out “SHITSHITSONOFABITCHDon’tdothistomecarnotNOWshitshitSHIT.”

I pulled over and rebooted. This did nothing, and since that’s the extent of my troubleshooting with all mechanical devices, I drove home, listening to the car roar whenever I accelerated. My vague knowledge of cars said “You know, that could be a muffler thing,” but hell, what do I know?

James looked at it, and said “Yeah, your muffler’s shot.”

So now I gotta go get that fixed. Inconvenient, but at least it happened before I moved out.

*All these cookbooks I buy tell me to check farmer’s markets for produce, because it’s cheaper, better, and doesn’t contribute to destroying the planet nearly so much. I figure I’ll try it. I only anticipate cooking a dinner or two a week, and I can probably plan that in advance. I hope. God willing.

Of course, the nice thing about living alone is that you can eat corn-on-the-cob for dinner, and nobody will be around to judge you.