red eyes

I got oil in my eyes last night while trying to wash the stuff out of my hair. After three hours lying on my back figuring out I don't know jack about autos I decided to take a break.

You'd think that something like taking an oil pan off a car would afford a creative thinker like myself no serious challenge, but all the creativity in the world can't unfreeze an ancient, rusted bolt. Why is it so easy to hate an inanimate object? I'm not even a cursing man, so I get no real venting except to say "ow, ow, ow - gosh, that smarts" when I smack my elbow full force into a tie rod.

What lessons will I learn from this? I'm not rightly sure I'll know 'til it's over. I may learn that there's nothing you can't do with a lot of time and a willingness to really muck things up (a pneumonic ratchet gun would also really help). Or, alternatively, I could learn to trust professionals. The problem is that I've got to work three hourse to pay the pros to work one, and my time is free.

We've encountered some interesting beurocracy, which is forcing us to hang out in Maple Ridge instead of taking our intended meandering trip through Mexico and the grand canyon and such. The only thing I love more than rusted bolts is red tape.