I am a control freak. I admit it. Things must go as I have them laid out or I need to be in control of the change or it makes me tense. A prime example can be illustrated with my evening:
Simply because I had planned to take the Durango tomorrow morning things had to go horribly wrong. I have, of course, failed to start and run it often enough this summer... thus the battery was dead (glad I tried it tonight). Being stubborn, instead of conceding to just take the Stratus, I ran to sears to get a longer set of jumper cables, drove across my lawn, and attempted to be a big girl.

If you read three different sets of instructions you'll get three different sets of direction. This is indeed what happened which made me paranoid that I was not doing things correctly. Next, when the neutral was connected to the dead Durango on the frame - it sparked - and it scared the living crap out of me (refer back a few months to my previous attempt to electrocute myself). So there I am half in tears, and I wander down the street to ask a less than happy to see me neighbor if that is normal, get the answer that yes it is, and start back to the house as the tears finally come.

You see, this is one of those occasions that spirals out of control in my head and has me wallowing in singledom. It would be nice to have that someone to call that will laugh at me for not knowing how to jump my own car, but whom would still haul over and help me fix the problem. Of course, the last time I called upon my love for such help, friends were sent to rescue me instead. But I guess that's another story.

So on the way back the neighbor immediately beside me sees me and comes out asking if all is okay. She promptly sees I'm distraught and comes to help. I've never seen a woman wield wires and current like she was whipping up mousse. It was quick, it was fluid, my car was running. So my hero came in the form of a nice woman with a word of encouragement that we don't need a guy to do this for us. Ok, so it's running. I leave it run for 15 minutes and head out to Beff's with it. It ran for nearly a half an hour, and both the guy at Sears and the neighbor said 'eh, 15 minutes' would suffice. So I figured I was good. Bzzt. So Beff got to bring me home again. Frankly it can sit there until it's appointment to get the brakes done, then I'll jump the bugger again - long enough to get it downtown.

I guess all happens for a reason and at least the car is out of the way for the construction of the curbs out front to continue without stranding one of my vehicles on the other side of the motes that are forming around our homes. But here I am just peeved that I'll have to deal with jumping the car again and that my plans were forced to change.