Pardon Me, But Have You Seen My Brain?

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It's lost.

My brain is GONE. Missing. Vacant. Absent without leave.

I misplaced it sometime last week and have yet to recover it. I assure you it's not inside that big empty cavity attached to my neck, for if it were, I wouldn't be in the predicament I've currently found myself in.

If you happen to stumble upon my missing brain, please brush off any debris it may have collected and send it back to me. If you're inclined, feel free to rewire any of the kinks it holds...you know the ones that make me, um, special. If you can't fix my quirks, that's okay. At this point I'm happy to have anything to fill that empty space between my ears. Being neurotic is challenging enough WITH a brain; being the Neurotic Housewife without my brain is presenting me with a whole pile of different problems.

I'm not kidding when I tell you I'm losing it.

Maybe I need some ginko biloba? Mental clarity would be welcomed with opened arms, but it's hard to achieve such clarity when your brain has left the building.

Go ahead, roll your eyes. Call me a drama queen. I can take it.

In fact, if I didn't know any better, I'd label myself a drama queen. BUT, I know better.

It started innocently enough, as most stories are apt to do. It was Sunday afternoon and Caroline went over to her friend's house to play. A little while after she left, Caroline called and said "hey mom, we're having a car wash, does daddy's car need to be washed?" To which I replied, "yes, it is covered in pollen." With plans for me to bring the car to Alayna's house, we said our good byes and I grabbed my keys.

I got in the pollen covered car and put the key in the ignition. And what did I hear? Well, I heard the very same click-click-click-click I heard back in February when my neighborly good deed got me nothing but a dead battery. Argh!

Just six weeks earlier I gained grease monkey status and changed the battery. Six weeks is way too soon for a new battery to die. Right? I was clearly confuzzled by this situation because I didn't leave any lights on the last time I drove the car.

Understandably annoyed, I sighed loudly, muttered a few things under my breath and kicked the front tire. Then I took off on foot to alert Caroline that her car washing services wouldn't be needed that afternoon.

On Monday I went to Wal Mart and inquired about their battery guarantee policy. They said to bring the battery back and they'd test it out. So, that's what we did. After school, Caroline and I brought the battery back. They tested it and the results concluded that the battery needed to be charged. Duh!

The kind folks at Wal Mart charged the battery while we ate ice cream cones at McDonald's and shopped for things we didn't need. And then we were on our way, charged battery, plastic cups, tank tops and a toy for Caroline in hand. It's nearly impossible to get out of there without some sort of purchase.

You know, I'm getting pretty good at disconnecting and reconnecting batteries. In fact, I think at this point I'd be able to do it blindfolded.

Thankfully, after a good charging, the battery worked like a charm.

But still, the question remained...why did the battery die in the first place?

Thanks to my dad's wise car guy advice, he suggested I take the car to Pep Boys to have them check the voltage on the alternator to insure that the alternator wasn't draining the battery. I did that yesterday. I even skipped the gym and coffee with gym friends afterwards because the whole situation was eating at me. No surprise, eh? According to the Pep Boys dudes, the alternator checked out just fine. Of course they also felt the need to give me an itemized list of all the services they suggest we do to the car. Services to the tune of $509. I said thanks, but no thanks. Most of the things they suggested were done a few months ago, anyway. They were nice guys though and I'm sure their "suggestions" are just part of the job.

Before I left, I picked up some new windshield wiper blades for Craig's car because the rubber part of the driver's side blade was completely detached from the rest of the wiper. I *could* have had the Pep Boys dudes put them on for me, but I opted to do it myself. Because I'm an idiot I like a challenge. I changed the battery, for crying out loud. How much harder could changing wiper blades be?

And those my friends, are words of foreshadow.

Let me tell you, it took me 30 minutes to figure out how to change the first blade. 30 minutes! I promise you that this is not an exaggeration. In fact, it may have taken longer. Once I figured it out, the second blade took me 20 seconds. I think whoever was hired to write the directions in the wiper blade box should be fired and never allowed to work in the technical writing field again. I would have been better off reading Chinese instructions.

It was a victory, for sure. Except for the fact that when I was fiddling with the first blade, the metal blade holder slipped from my hands and put a teeny tiny little crack in the windshield.

Oopsie.

After I've told you my story, you're probably confused. Confused as to why I'm claiming to have lost my mind. Because right now, besides the small crack in the windshield, things seem to be going pretty well. You're right, things WERE going well. Going well, that is, until this morning when I couldn't find my car keys.

Wanna guess where they were? Go ahead, take a guess.

Did you guess they were in Craig's car? If you did, you're right on the nose. Not only did I leave my keys in Craig's car, which is parked in an uncovered parking area where anyone could have stolen the car, but I left the keys IN THE IGNITION!

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And guess what?

THE BATTERY IS DEAD AGAIN!!

Please excuse me while I pull out my hair.

I wish this was just a joke, but it's not. It's very real. And very frustrating. And you know, it's raining outside and for just today, I'm going to stay in the house. I'm going to bury my head in the sand like a good little ostrich and pretend this didn't happen.

I'll deal with it tomorrow.