As in 'she bangs her head on her desk, on her steering wheel, on the kitchen table'.

She as in ME.

I am so sick and tired today.

Mecanic came over to take a look at the 'Death Van', hauled it back to the shop.
I hauled my ass to work.
Picked up my van at 4pm. Paid the mecanic $ 300.00.

On my way home: there was a nail in my tire. Stop and get some air to fix it temporarily.

Arriving to pick up Miss C: Van starts acting up again in the same manner it acted up last Friday.

WTF???
WTF???

I literally wanted to ram my van into the nearest post available. That or douche it with gasoline and lite it on fire.

I managed to get home, call up the mecanic who was utterly shocked that the van isn't working, cuz "he fixed it".

Bullshit. It is still leaking Powersteering liquid. Fuck I am not that stupid.

I get home come inside and cry. Cry and Cry and Cry.

My sensitive mom's reaction:
"Well, hell ya' aint' gonna resolve anthing by crying"

No shit Sherlock.

My piss-off-leave-me-the-fuck-alone reaction:

"Ya' know what? I need to cry. I want to cry. Why can't anyone just let me cry??"

Fuck. Sometimes I just need to cry. Sometimes I just want people to fuck off and let me be.

Jeez.

I have know hired a hit man to kill Murphy.
Or kill my mecanic.

whatever comes first.

For now: I'm off to see the all-star game.

Not all is lost.