at the seams

You know, there are legitimate problems which arise in every endeavor... and then there are the tiny hints the universe is screwing with your mind.

 

I had to drive between cities Thursday, four hours each way. In itself, not a terrible ordeal, except July is peak construction season and every single road was a minefield of closed ramps, choked lanes and sweaty men inhaling asphalt fumes in a male-dominated work field that no woman seems to want to equalize. I'd also wanted to make a minor car repair beforehand, and the garage first said it'd be done on Friday, which is when they called me to say Monday, which is when they declared the arrived part was broken, then by the time it got replaced it had to be painted, so Friday turned into... Friday. Then I made myself late rushing to renew my expired driver's license (fine, my bad) and due to a discussion with my father the night before wound up citing his weight instead of my own to the bored middle-aged woman at the counter, which means I'm now officially five kilos heavier. Then my spare car key dropped between the seats and managed to somehow vanish into some interdimensional void.

But first I had to gather a backpack's worth of whatsits and whatnots for the trip, including a phone whose charger had decided not to charge, a water bottle I couldn't find and turned into a part-filled Fanta bottle with extra water, a book I dropped and which of course fell slantwise, bending its cover. I bent to pick it up, which is, naturally, when the seat of my pants ripped.

Well played, universe. Well played.