You Traded in My Car? Seriously?
Last night dreamed that Al came back and traded in my car for another one that turned out to be a piece of junk. Apparently these people flew in from Washington, D.C. to buy my car, so there was no way I could get my car back. I was pissed.
"You sold my car?!" I screamed. "You sold my car?! And you sold me a piece of junk that you knew needed shocks?"
"I said it needed bearings," this little B says to me.
"Oh, so that makes all the difference?" I yelled.
I was pissed because my Toyota—even though it had more than 100,000 miles—was a far better car than the one I was now stuck with—some sort of old, gray Buick. Not only was I stuck with a car that I didn't want and wasn't mechanically sound, I had to make payments on it. WTF.
I went to the gym this morning. I'm trying to work back up to my 90-minute workouts. I'll get there. My leg is feeling remarkably better. Yea.
The diet is getting better. I still need to work on it.
I'm going home for lunch and to spend time with my boys.
Life is so weird.
