Yesterday, in a rush and with a big fluffy distraction in the front seat...I put Petrol in my car instead of diesel. On my way back home, directly from getting gas, I could feel the car was acting strangely when I shifted. Luckily, I made it to the beginning of my village, the busiest spot there. On a hill, about to take a left, the car died. I could not get it started. I kept thinking I flooded it or that I was doing something wrong ( I am often challenged by the obvious).
I could not get it going and had to wave people around me. Eventually, 2 men came to my aide ( try remembering words and speaking French in that situation)...We backed the car into a downhill parking spot. I was half in and half out of the spot. It was hard getting the car that far.
What to do? What to do? and with a big white fluff in tow.
I went looking for Jacky, the locale bricolage man who knows me. I figured he would help me...perhaps I just needed a jump. It was lunch time, so Jacky was nowhere to be found.
I heard a hello from the local restaurant and voila, my friend Alexandra was there with a whole table of the Dutch. I got her to call my insurance company that acts like a sort of AAA....I am not sure how it all works, but they have roadside service as I found out when my car broke down in Italy.
Emile and I sat in the shade and waited about an hour and the man came.
It occurred to me that perhaps I put the wrong gas in. There are 4 choices per pump, all in a line. I took the one on the left which was green. I didn't read the words...and now I am sure it was wrong.
So, he towed the car away to my dreaded garageist, Puppo and now I wait.
Emile and I walked home, it's perhaps a mile uphill and down hill on a backroad...Emile was not happy.
I have never felt comfortable with Puppo...it's not a language thing. I am used to mechanics that really take good care of my car...in California I had 2 excellent mechanics ( LA and SF) who were friendly and checked the car out totally for a girl. Not Puppo. He will only do the minimal and will not look at anything else in the car. I need to find a new garagist here.
But for today, I have to get my car back. I am really stressed out without it. Sadly, I depend on it.
I realize there are so many things in life that I depend on...my car, wifi, electricity, running water, my computer, a ride to the garage to pick up my car, the supermarket even....It makes me feel vulnerable.
It makes me annoyed at myself for being so clumsy and so challenged by the little things. I've always been this way, I can't blame it on age.
I can't imagine how some people make life look effortless. For instance, I see some women and they have their nails nicely polished, perfect hair and make up, nicely dressed, heels....surrounded by like women friends, admired by men...life seemingly easy. I know that they are not perfect and most all have problems that I can't see but....
I can't keep nail polish looking good ( So I don't wear it often), Make up is difficult even though I have had lessons, even at Chanel in Paris. I hate taking make-up off. I hate the way it hurts my eyes. Even wearing good make up, it smudges under my eyes after awhile and makes me look sloppy and tired. Clothes, I love clothes but I will never be able to dress like these women I see...they look perfect and I am sure have expensive beautifully matched under ware. Big heels, big expensive handbags, fabulous sunglasses.
Where did I miss the bus on this? When God was handing out these abilities, where was I.
If I put all of my energy into that direction and tried to be like these women, I don't think I could do it.
Perhaps they had Mother's that demanded this of them. ( I can't think of anyone that I grew up with that's like this.)..My Mother did not care about this kind of thing although she did hound me about nail polish and wearing a necklace. ( both were standard things for her)...She would force me to wear certain clothes at an event that she would be at as well. I will never forget her forcing me to wear a black and white checked wool dress that made me feel like Joan Crawford to my grandmother's funeral. I hated when she did this to me. I could not stand for her to force me to wear certain clothes.
To this day, I have a lot of anxiety around getting dressed up for any kind of social event.
I loves clothes and like to dress up but when I have to, I rifle through all of my clothes and nothing looks right. There is usually a big pile of clothes on my bed by the time I find something that I feel vaguely comfortable with. My friend A. told me not so long ago.. make the effort to wear the first thing you take out of the closet...kind of like when you take a multiple exam test...go with what you first thought was best. I am trying to do this. ( I should add that A. is a man and this would be much easier for a man.)
But now, I wonder if my circumstances have been dictated by my inability to be perfect....outwardly. Would I have taken a different path if I had been one of these women. What if I had concentrated on these type of issues, perfecting the outside. Perhaps I have spent too much time developing my intellect and experiencing life and neglected the facade. So now I have this big head full of vast and varied knowledge and experiences, but on the outside, I remain a girl who doesn't wear nail polish, would rather not wear make up and struggles when it comes time to dress up.
I digressed.
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