I think someone is trying to tell me something

...because right after I posted that last diatribe, my "check engine" light came on.

My first thought was, "Uh oh, maybe my car is trying to tell me something?"

And then immediately my second thought was, "Actually, Sarah, that's exactly what it's trying to do. The manufacturer made it with these little warning lights that pop up when it wants to tell you something. And it's actually not too hard to figure out what it's trying to tell you, either. It's trying to tell you to check the engine!"

So I had a good laugh at my own expense (hey, if no one else is around, someone has to enjoy my ridiculousness, right?)

Shortly thereafter, however, I decided to take a decidedly middle-school boy approach to this dilemma. Just like when the 13-year-old boy asks the 13-year-old girl out, and she says, "EWWWWWW GROSS OMG NO WAY!" and runs off to roll her eyes and giggle with her girlfriends, and the guy turns to his buddies and goes, "Hmmm...so, do you think that means yes?" -- just like that, I'm going to label this situation ambiguous, and still ask for your feedback on the car thing.

Call me a dreamer, but just like that poor pimply boy, I think this one could still turn out alright for me.

Will you be my car talk?

Meet my car. I call it my baby. (And by my baby, I mean it makes lots of funny noises, completely shuts down when you least expect it, and regularly leaks fluids from really inappropriate places.)

(The guys scraping my car off for me are my brothers. They would call me the baby, but that's a different story.)

So, as you can probably tell or already know, my car and I have a long and tumultuous history together, but it has really only brought us closer. Unfortunately, however, it has driven me and my savings account farther apart. Every relationship, it seems, is a trade off.

Recently, I've been trying to decide whether or not to get rid of my car. I have finally found a wonderful mechanic who, in spite of the fact that he teases me mercilessly and sometimes speaks to me in Portugese, I love. He tells me he loves me too -- because I keep him in business. That right there is our one major problem (a bigger deal than the Portugese). When I ask him to be serious for a second and tell me whether or not to sell my car, however, he says he just can't say. It may have several years left on it. Or it may die tomorrow. Or it may cause my savings account and I to go into a full separation, and then die. All of these are realistic possibilities.

I have a (very) generous offer from my parents on their 2001 Mitsubishi Galant that I could purchase if I sell my car. Whenever I raise this issue with Mario-the-mechanic, he tells me it's not worth it -- the Galant isn't as nice a car, repairs will be more expensive, my car could still have several more years in it, blah blah blah. On the other hand, he says, "It's your life. Who am I to tell you what to do?" Uh, the expert on my car, that's who.

But since Mario won't give me a straight answer, I would love one from you, dear faithful readers (if you're out there). Do I say goodbye to my baby? Do I take the car I don't like as much, but is a very good offer, and save for another car later? Do I run my car into the ground, knowing that I could be losing any value I could get from it?

Will you be my car talk and advise me? I'm afraid to call in, although I love the show, because I know however much Mario teases me, they'll tease me more. Advice, please, and keep the snarky comments to a minimum.

And So It Begins...

...the Sunday (or, thankfully in this case, Monday) night madness: grading homework, sending off lesson plans, responding to all the emails I've neglected all weekend, rereading the story I will be teaching tomorrow so I don't look stupid when a student asks a question and I've forgotten what he's talking about, envisioning how tomorrow will go and praying there won't be a coup...

...and trying to breathe, and keep in mind the big picture. This is the new part this year -- didn't exactly put that on my "to do" list last year. (Although, as a friend recently pointed out to me, when you have to put "think big picture" on a to do list, you are missing the point. Oops.) I went home to see my parents this weekend and, in the midst of a grading frenzy, my dad interrupted me and said, simply, "Remember to be patient. You have a lot of life ahead of you. You're not going to figure it all out this moment." My dad is a teacher, too, and he remembers the early years of trying to pull everything together at the last minute. It's helpful to see him at the end of his career and remember that every task that seems so critically important right now is a much smaller part of a much bigger plan (which, thankfully, is not all under my control).

Happy short week, friends!