Friday Afternoon Confessional: What was that?
I confess I hit something substantial on the freeway on my way to work Wednesday. When I say substantial, I mean in terms of mass and ability to do damage to my car. Not like a kid, animal or another car. It certainly felt substantial as it instantly destroyed my right rear tire and took a chunk the size of a golf ball out of that tire’s rim. I confess cool rims and low profile performance tires look neat when you’re purchasing a car, but they’re kind of a nightmare when you have to replace them. “They cost how much? Shit!”
I confess when I went to switch out the obliterated tire for its spare, I couldn’t get the lugnuts off. My efforts were causing the car to rock on the jack. I didn’t want to knock the car off the jack and I was working up a sweat leaning into the tire iron. So I called my car company’s roadside service to come switch the tire.
I confess I told myself the guy who came and replaced the tire would have better tools for putting on the spare. When he came, though, he borrowed the car’s stock tire iron and removed the lugnuts without any tricks. I confess to feeling sheepish about this, and comforted myself by saying he had a good 40 or 50 pounds on me.
I confess I told my buddy at work about my experience. Since my last conversation with him had been about somebody stealing our A/C, he was under the impression I was having a pretty bad stretch. I went to correct him and point out that I’m actually living a fairly charmed life and these are pretty minor inconveniences, but stopped myself. I confess it’s a little depressing that we’re so much more comfortable sharing our stories of woe than acknowledging our good fortune.
I confess my wife and I gave up pork this past weekend, but don’t yet have the requisite discipline to have mercy on larger swaths of the animal kingdom. I confess my reasoning for starting with pork – I hope to eventually go full vegetarian (maybe) – is a little childish. I sometimes pass trucks hauling pigs on the freeway, and these pigs look out the holes of the trailer at passers-by. There is an intelligence in the pigs’ eyes that reminds me of my dogs and makes me feel just awful for eating them.
This has been the case for years, but it had never made me feel awful enough to actually pass on bacon or a good BBQ. I finally pitched the idea of sparing pigs to my wife seriously, and she agreed to give it a go with me. I confess sometimes my decisions about trying to be a better person don’t really make sense or actually accomplish anything. They are more about making it easier to look in the mirror.
How about you, tormented reader? What are you comfortable sharing in confession in the hopes of lessening your psychological burden?
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