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Don't psychoanalyze me.

Posted by Kelvin, 26 May 2015 · 409 views

This morning I had to drive my dented car to an All-State Insurance Inspection center or whatever it is called to get an official car repair quote onto my claim. If you didn't know, I got into a "car crash" where a tried to merge into a New Jersey Highway. Being a good New York Driver, I expected signaled looked at the mirrors, and accelerated appropriately to make a clean entrance into the highway. With New Jersey being terrifying drivers, everyone was driving 80 in a 55 miles/h road. That is item #8 in my "Top 20 Things I Hate About New Jersey list". By the time I merged into, a car zoomed into my blind spot and we side swiped each other. Bumps and paint scratches on both sides. The other driver was chill, though. She works at a public park and likes the Yankees, but has a Cardinals bumper sticker.

At the All-State location, the inspector revealed that total repairs would cost $1700 and my insurance would cover $1400 of it. I was like fuck that. I'd rather get a new car that replace a side bumper and door that had not problems other than being concaved inward. My car is over 14 years old so it was about due to pass into the netherworld soon enough. A Gray 2000 Honda CRV. If I just get a $120 paint job, the damage wouldn't be noticeable unless you intently stare at the lack of symmetry. The inspector was calm and nice so I didn't say what I was thinking out loud. He likes swimming in amazing summer weather like the one we had today.

A Freihofer's distribution outlet was close by. I wanted to buy bread because I'm a cheapskate who likes freshly manufactured bread. The parking lot there didn't have white lines painted on the ground for spaces. I spent a good 10 seconds trying to figure out where to park without looking like an idiot. I dreaded parking diagonally, or heaven forbid--blocking actual "road". A few cars scattered about but not enough in a consistent order to make good judgement. I parked close to this one car who seemed to have their life figured out like their parking, It was a safe decision.

As walked out of my, I rolled my ankle and my left temple banged the sideview mirror of this white van adjacent to my car that looked like it was made only two years ago. The mirror shifted on its movable plane, but not damaged or scratched. A voice from a woman who looks like a recent mother in Ray Bans and a white blouse said, "Ah. That's my car," as if I took the last dessert in the cafeteria line. Well thank you, bitch for caring about me. I don't know anything about her, but I hope her kids continues to live with her in their late 20's. I felt my head and found no bleeding nor bruise. We both got lucky.

In the shop, I bought six loafs: three Honeywheat, three Wholegrain for their local price of 3 bags for $4 bucks. Carrying the bags looked like I was holding six wiener dogs by their tails.

The clientele inside were not the most glamorous or trendy as the bitch mother was. There was a mentally retarded patient and her caretaker, an elderly women and her daughter, and a callously shaven man who still had his Shell gasoline uniform on. The cashier, an urban black women like Sweet Brown ("Ain't nobody got time for that!" woman), was deflated of sass and devoid of shits to give. She almost cracked a smile when I smiled and said thank you, but the muscles of stone cold face wouldn't let the corners of her mouth inch toward her ears.

When I got home, I fell asleep. A combination of striking disappointment, embarrassment and heat stroke made be feel drowsy. It was only 1 in the afternoon by that time.

In my dream, I was in the basement of an old church I was in when I was 8. There were people there I didn't particularly want to talk to but if I had to, I wouldn't mind a superficial conversation with them. I think I was watching a movie projected on an old brick wall and felt annoyed people pestering me about my future and schoolwork while I tried to watch Balto. There was also bagels but I hate bagels.

This is the part of the dream where you can't remember how you arrived at B from A. Now I'm side by side with Pearl (without his effects) from Rupaul's Drag Race Season 7. We were both riding bikes to I don't know where. The roads around were oddly reminiscent of the plazas and residential roads I drove today on my way to see how much money I don't have to fix my car and yet spend whatever I do have on delicious factory bread full of preservatives. There was the travel agency, the ballet studio, the Panera Bread, the Shell gas station, PF Chang's and St. Anthony's. We were biking on the sidewalks even though there was no car in sight. Dream logic.

Pearl fell suddenly fatigued and looked like he was dying. He said he had to make it to the whatever the place was and his strong desire to get there motivated me to carry him on my back all the way there. "There" was a narrow two story house like the ones your find on the hills of San Francisco. The house was wedged between a Barnes&Noble and the Panera Bread along the same strip. I could have just wheeled him there on his bike than drudging on foot, but I didn't. Again, dream logic.

Before I put him down in that house, he said needed chocolate chip cookies in order to feel like himself again. I rushed outside on foot and ran all over the shopping district for the goods. All the buildings were all white blocks with no doors or windows. With each block I passed by, I had this gut feeling that chocolate chip cookies or even the concept of a bakery never existed in this world yet I did whatever I could to help him.

Again, this is another moment where I can't remember how I got from point C from B. One moment I was surrounded by white buildings, and the next I'm back inside the same room as Pearl, seeing him eating spaghetti and smiling. He asked me if I found the cookies. Lying is easier than admitting failure. I said the bakery was warming up a new batch and it'll take a while instead. I felt more disappointment now than I did at the new mother's compassion for my well-being.

Don't psychoanalyze me.

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