January 03, 2017

the monday-est tuesday there ever was

All I can say re: today is WOMP, WOMP. 

I pulled into the gas station and hit the curb as I was pulling up to the pump... and apparently hit it so hard that I punctured a giant hole in the sidewall of my tire. After carefully moving my car from the pump to the back lot, the first thing I wanted to do was call my dad. And then my heart broke because I realized I couldn't. 

Calling my dad whenever something goes wrong with my car is instinct. I've been doing it since I was 15 and he was teaching me how to drive in the old middle school's tiny parking lot. A 9 year habit is hard to break. 

Like the time I got stuck at Southridge when I was working at the portrait studio. My locks were frozen AND after I had finally gotten into my car, my security system decided to shut down my car because it thought I was trying to steal it. I called him in tears because it was cold and I was frustrated and all I wanted to do was get home. He let me cry and listened to me and told me it would be okay. After I stopped crying he told me how to fix it. That's always how we operated. Get all the emotions out and then fix what's wrong. Simple, cathartic, to the point. 

After Piers and Damien got my donut on and said I was good to go, I had to run errands. I called my mom because I just wanted to hear her voice. Sometimes you just need to hear your mom say "I love you" in only the way that mothers can. She reminded me that this whole missing your dad thing never really goes away. My grandfather died in 1983, nine years before I was born, and she still misses him every day. 

So instead of freaking out about my tire or being sad about missing my dad, I'm choosing to be thankful. For family. For love. For knowing when to ask for help. And for memories, because eventually they become all you've got. 

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