When it rains, it pours

So, it has been quite some time, my faithful followers that I haven't sat down for a good rant. Today is the day.
And despite the fact that all of the individual components of my personal tragedy are decidedly unfunny, I think, as a whole this can be taken with a grain of heuristic salt.

So. I couldn't sleep last night, or rather, I spent until past midnight corresponding in confusing and unclear ways with several people and trying to write another chapter. I did manage to finish by 1 am, though I must admit, the only reason I have been able to keep doing this is that I have given myself absolute and total license to blow off all academic responsibilities, at least for this week, whew, that was a tough one.

So, I have this unwieldy monster of a fracture boot on my foot, whose ultimate utility remains to be seen. It causes more problems than it solves, I think, and that of course is because my foot really doesn't hurt. Unless, of course, I poke it, or try to bend my straining digits. To say the least it has had several economic ramifications: 1) $65 for the apparatus itself, to be billed to my BARC account, add that to the $26 that the crutches, used in tandem exactly one day. 2) Last night, because I couldn't ride my bike, I had to park in the HSSB parking lot for the translation studies focus group meeting, and because I have three-thousand things on my mind, I forgot that the Transportation alternative passes automatically shut off at 5 o'clock. There was a juicy $40 ticket waiting on my window when I finally came out into the darkened lot. (Perhaps if I frame my sob story just so, they will reduce it to a $10 administrative fee. Fuckers.)

So going back to not sleeping. At 5, I. wakes up and wants the waffle that I didn't make her last night at 9 because she crashed out before I could be convinced that she wanted to eat more than sleep. Apparently I was right, but at 5 she was pestering me to go downstairs, after only 4 hours of sleep. I refused and she fell back asleep only to give her eternal battle of "five more minutes resting my eyes." and a snit about the jeans that I wanted to put on her. From now on I am going to have to be a less fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants sort of mom and make her lay out her clothing the night before, I just don't know how I can take the stress of mornings, and soon, I will have an 8 am class. Grrr. Never in my academic career have I deigned to take a class so early, but it is a requirement, and so I must submit myself to the will of others.

This is a very humbling experience indeed.

So I take I. to school and try to leave before the bell rings but then it does and she comes running for just one more hug, and one more kiss. I get shakily back into my car, exhausted and sad, only to be trapped for five minutes while no one lets me out. I finally pull slowly out to hear a sickening crunch. In my blind spot, in the loading zone, there was a parked car and I pulled over immediately to exchange insurance information. I wobble across the pavement with my stupid boot of torture.
"Lo siento," I apologize.
"Este..."
"¿Tiene seguro?" the man nods slowly, hedging, "Pero, no me gustaría involucrar a mi seguranza." (ech. I know, the use of seguranza instead of the appropriate Spanish word seguro or aseguradora (for the company) always makes my skin crawl, no time for linguistic snobbery, I'm the fuck up in this story.)
He relays that he doesn't want to have his insurance go up, and I reply that the only way I know how to deal with the situation is by involving my insurance, and that it is a trustworthy company, sure, he must be thinking, trust the fucking gabacha güera in the BMW) I reiterate my apologies. I explain that I can't insure that everything will be ok, but that this is the best I can do. He wants my phone number, I hesitantly concede, his wife has returned to their car and is acting as secretary.

"So you're sure that my insurance won't go up?" he is still reticent, in Mexico this is not usually how it is done, normally you slip someone a little bit of money for their trouble, or you work out a fair deal gang-land style (one day I will tell a really unfunny story about this). Here no one approached us, no one offered themselves as mediators, and really it was just a sizeable dent in his driver's side door. Ok, and the silly plastic trim popped of. That's what I get for having a sturdy metal car.
"Mire," le digo, "No sé que decirle, lo único que puedo hacer es que se arreglen los seguros entre sí, tengo el pie roto y estoy en medio de un divorcio," my voice wobbles, I am embarrassed form my clumsiness and my inability to fix this thing.

I get a phone call, "can you get together work clothes for me and there is some software that I need to take to the office."

I feel like my head is going to explode, now one might think that the world is conspiring to get me, but frankly, I am blessed with the ability to examine my life with amused (or bemused) detachment. And I had a good laugh, before I let myself have a good cry.