Squeaky the Magnificent

A new day has dawned for my car. Let all of heaven and earth fall silent and listen. Listen to the hum of the engine as it purrs through the damp, cool, winter air. Listen to the sound of my heart beat as I turn the key. Hear me now, and remember.

Last year about this time I sought a mechanic, who I sublimely dubbed as "Daryl." Today, I need Daryll again. Not to carve open my door, which was wedged shut by my parents bumpy, boony road, but to crack open the hood and hunt down the squealing of the fanbelt that I have allowed to go on for too long. To crawl under the vehicle and fix the tailpipe (or muffler) so that it doesn't sound like I am in a big rig truck as I stroll down the road in my little shitbox goobermobile.

Oh Daryl, I bessech thee once again to come down and have a look at my fine little vehicle. Work your magic across my engine oh sweat greasy savior. I call on thee to love my car more dearly, to see it more clearly, to get to know it more nearly.

For I have changed the name from "Olga" to "Squeaky the Magnificent." I can no longer run the heat or the air conditioner when I slow down for fear of the sqeak. I can no longer climb a mountain without going deaf from the rumble. I spend my time in the car twittering buttons and gears and easing off the gas for relief, for fear, for lack of anything better to do.

I've become quite adept at knowing when to turn my heat off (and freeze my ass off) to make sure the fanbelt doesn't squeal. Instead of fixing the problem (which requires money), I instead have learned to adapt to the nonsense that is squeaky and rumble.

It's interesting to me how I spend so much time figuring out ways to avoid the problem altogether, rather than just fixing it. Making the sacrifice, going to good ole Daryl (who is a fictitious mechanic and any resemblance to a real mechanic in real life is purely coincidental), and getting my car the care it needs. Instead, I find ways to just live with it. To put it off for another day. To eek out one more paycheck before the pain gets unbearable and I HAVE to fix it.

Have I not learned anything these past couple of years? All this time I have spent introspecting about why things happened to me, all this time I have spent trying to improve my life, and I still haven't learned the most important lesson of all: you can't avoid the pain; you can't control the pain; you have to FACE the pain and go through it. It's the only way to heal. It's the only way to get back to normal. It's the only way to pick yourself up and find redemption after a fall.

So many times we spend our lives looking for ways to avoid pain. We go to great extent to protect ourselves and our egos. We jump through hoops for fear of the sqeak. We ease back and sit idley where we are because things get too loud. When if we just face it, accept that we have to go through it, and move on, we could heal so much faster and save so much time.

So I continue to drive around in Squeaky the Shitbox. I continue to let the gaping dents in the side fester. I forget about the inherent lack of hubcaps. All because I don't want to face the fact that with a little tender care, a little pain (spend the money), the car can run normally again and I wouldn't have to do all these little tweaks to make sure I don't have to listen to the problems my car has.

Daryl, you elusive creature you, come shine down upon my once again. Open my wallet and dip down inside where the river has run dry and the sky has fallen. Teach me to be humble. Teach me to face my fear. Teach me to deal with the pain rather than run from it. And above all else, take a shower you stinky son of a bitch.