Now, I mentioned in my last post that I planned on posting more regularly. At first I didn't know what to write about. But then I had a brilliant idea. Why not compile a list of ten things I dislike about my car? Most people love them and they are easy to write. So I opened Studio and started to write.
But in order to write such a list, I first needed to find 10 things that I actually disliked about my car. Well, I'm proud to announce that I found two (2, zwei, deux, dos,...) things that are actually worth mentioning. There you go, here it is, my top ten (minus eight) list of things I dislike about my car.
The rough idle
No OBD port to diagnose what causes the rough idle
Everything else that I dislike is entirely my fault. For example the fact that the paintwork looks like it needs some major cleaning, waxing and polishing. Or that I still don't have the knowledge or emotional strength to try and fix the idle issue myself.
I guess I should be honest. I know this is the internet and I shouldn't get too personal but, to the few awesome people who read this, I suffer from depressions, I overthink every little step I take, I'm a perfectionist with goals too high to reach. Driving is my outlet, driving doesn't make me overthink. My car doesn't judge me, it doesn't bully me.
But I give up too easily. When I got the car, I was confident enough to work on it myself. When my spark plug change failed due to what you can see in the header image, I lost my faith in that part of myself.
I love cars, I love that lovely black Mazda 626 Coupe so much. When I drive it, I'm talking about properly driving, on a free day, without pressure, alone, on a road to nowhere, I feel happy, it makes me giggle like I'm 6 years old again, young and innocent, not knowing how depressed one can get 13 years later.
I just don't know how to deal with it. I'm not getting enough out of YouTube videos or my mechanic handbook. It makes me feel bad and stressed. First thing I do after getting behind the wheel is apologizing for everything I can't do.
Looking at my car, standing silently in the garage, in front of our grey Mazda 6, barely fitting inside, it reminds me a lot of myself. I look fine from the outside, from the distance, I can act like I'm fine, I still function, but there's something not quite right.
Now, enough of this. Just one more thing, 'it' is actually called Mab. To anyone who doesn't get it, I strongly suggest reading 'The Dresden Files' by Jim Butcher.
(well, this post took a turn, didn't it?)