Bruised but not Broken....

I love my car. It fits me. It's a sport red Chevy HHR. Stands for Heritage High Roof for those who were wondering. It's design stems from the 1950's model. Seems a quirky choice for me, but I'm an old soul so...

It needs new tires and realigning in a bad way, but that's just cause people keep....hitting....me.

It also needs repair to the front end because people keep.....hitting.....me.

Also, there's a small dent in the lift gate because someone.....hit...me.

You know what would be swell? Is if people STOPPED HITTING ME!

Last year around this time, for those new to this little blog of mine, I was working myself into the ground with three jobs. One of those jobs was throwin papes in the wee small hours of the morning. I would get up and get my kids off to school, go to work at a Middle School where I made sure that the kids didn't kill each other at lunch and during recess. I would go home, change and kiss my kids, then go work for four hours or so as a music vendor. I would then come home, kiss my kids goodnight after they were already in bed and then take a nap for 3 hours. At which point I would then get up and go do my route. Come home, sleep for 45 minutes and start my day all over again.

I actually didn't mind the job so much. The pay sucked ass, but it kept me busy during a time I didn't want to think or feel anything. Surviving was all I could manage to do as I went through my divorce. The Winter months sucked physically but I'm a sexy bitch in Carhartt. I may have accidentally scared a few old people in a nursing home as I went in to deliver their morning paper donned in all black and forgetting to take my ski mask off, but that's neither here nor there.

I may have also stopped in someones yard and taken a a turn or two on the tire swing in the front yard at 3AM in the same aforementioned attire, but again, that's not the focus of this blog, nor is the family of deer I befriended. Moving on...

I would often drive a bit, park my car and then hoof it for a block or two. Sometimes, I would pull into a driveway and hit that house and the houses on either side then get back in my car and carry on. It was usually so quiet on this particular street so I didn't think anything of it when I parked my car in the same driveway I usually do. I walked across the street, turned back around, opened the door to my car to get in, and had one leg inside just as this big ass truck backed up and without paying attention flew into me.

Because I have ninja like reflexes I jumped and rolled out of the way, but my poor car got it's front end clocked and pushed out into the street. Drunk ass McGillicutty didn't have insurance, so....my car still has a battle wound and the only thing I walked away with thank the Goddesses was a bruised ass.

The dent in the lift gate I discovered after coming out of Walmart one night. It's the perfect size and shape and in the perfect spot where a truck, say with a trailer hitch would back into my car.

But.....I still love her and I will drive her until she's dead. She is reliable and gets me where I need to go, and oftentimes on adventures filled with Shenanigans, with my bestie. She may be a bit banged up and a little bruised, but she is not broken,  and in so many ways.....is me.