My truck is officially scrapped with a $3600 bill. Apparently, my fishing trip to Wisconsin was all it could handle before the ball bearings in the engine ripped their surroundings apart. Tonight, I'll take the truck home on it's final deluge home as it chugs along for 2 miles. Rehearsals start Monday and I definitely need a car to get to and fro, so I am forced to get something this weekend. Forced to make payments and pay for full coverage.
This truck belonged to Amy's dad before he passed away. He placed a pin of St. Christopher attached above the driver's side seat on the ceiling. The Patron Saint of Travelers. I guess I should be thankful for the 2 1/2 years of safe travel, and no accidents or speeding tickets.
There is always a sentimental attachment to material objects, and I realize this when I have to get rid of it, whether it be a Tshirt going to Goodwill, or a book being sold at a thrift sale. It's as if part of my memory is gone, and the times that I associate with that thing are forever lost. A little reminder that time keeps on slipping into the future, as Steve Miller would say.
My fear of commitment to a new car spreads to my inability to predict my finances. But other than that I really have nothing to bitch about.
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