Two Hours Later. Which is a Long Time... Even For a Spring Chicken. Which I'm Not.

So the good news is that the place that fixed my car -- the piece that was lost in the sideswiping incident of December '04 -- did a shoddy job. That's why the new piece that was put on in April of '05 flew off on the 405 freeway in December of '06. The man from the body shop - Ike's - said it wasn't their fault. But I knew it was. I could tell that it wasn't attached right. I mean, come on now. How often do pieces of your car just fly off? I'm not crazy. Well, at least not about that. The State Farm guy who works out of some makeshift van in an Enterprise Rent A Car parking lot (which is suspect as well) checked it out today. At first he said that something had to have hit the piece for it to fall off. Then I pointed out the screw situation and telltale signs that there was a lack thereof of signs that they'd ever been used in the first place. And well, he got excited. Because he worked at a body shop... once maybe? Because apparently he didn't recognize the situation without me playing Vanna. But suddenly, he knew the screws were all wrong! The piece of paint that had a hole in it was evidence that they tried to attach the piece in the wrong place!!! And then there was rust on the screws on the piece of plastic that's still attached which means that those aren't even the right screws!!! And well, it was like a regular episode of CSI out there in the parking lot. Only it wasn't. Still, it's now his mission to have my car fixed. From some place other than Ike's. Which is a bonus. Because that would take me over two hours to get to as well. That is if today's commute was any indication. And since I'm not so fond of Ike's? It doesn't really seem worth it.

See, this afternoon, Carla had to be at an event for her daughter and I had to do the car thing. So I flew solo. Not so fun. There was like a wall of traffic. Which I didn't really need. Because you know, I've hit enough of those over the last five years.

This whole life thing? Where I'm at right now? It's surreal. I just don't know anything for sure any more. I remember when I took the job at Drew as a writer's assistant. I was 27 years-old. We had a guy that was 26 years old running the show... well, he did after two years. Still, he was first in line. Like the Vice-President of the show essentially. Our Gerald Ford, if you will. All of the other writers' assistants were 23, 24... I thought I was sucking it up then. And I did. I typed my little heart out. I wrote my little heart out. I did coverage on the weekends for extra money and I wrote my screenplay. And finally. Finally. I got staffed. And then... Then...

What the hell? I didn't even commit a crime. I didn't have a baby. Or get divorced. I'm kind of sad that I missed out on those experiences. They seem like more reasonable explanations for this. Place. I'm at. I mean, a baby is a miracle. And a divorce would at least mean I'd been in love... and out of love and probably hated and despised. But I'm sure men have hated and despised me even without ever having loved me or divorced me. Did I mention that there's a guy I went on a date with once at some point in my life I can't even remember who used to be an assistant when I think I must have been writing - only because he asked me if I was still writing -- right after he saw me typing/logging for $10 an hour and then told me he now has his own production company next to the company I'm logging for? Well, that was fun.

On the one hand, I feel hopeful. Because I have to. On the other, I'm scared. Horrified. Which doesn't mean I'm not grateful to Carla. I am. Obviously. SO grateful. I like the environment. The people. The show. And to be making stories. And I'm also grateful to Julie. Because she's going to let me help her this weekend on her show. Which is what I've been wanting. Which she will use to help me later, when her show gets picked up. Sure, I won't get paid. But I will learn. And I will get closer. And I'd rather get closer in one weekend than in months and years. Because Cypress is a long way away. And I'm no spring chicken. You know.