Have you ever reached a point in life where you feel as if you are banging your head against a wall and the only progress you are making is giving yourself a migraine?
Yeah, I have a little of that going on with my truck. Remember? The one I didn’t want to get rid of because it is paid off and has that rare Stones sticker in the rear window?
Well, she is at it again. And no, I didn’t refer to my truck as a she out of some misogynistic tendency, I just happen to do that. And on top of that, I have spoiled and treated her like she was a queen despite her 250,000 plus miles.
She’s an old queen, a little worse for wear, but a queen nonetheless. Although I have to admit I am about 20 seconds from pulling a French Revolution on her and sending her to the guillotine — off with her heads!
Only car people will probably get that joke. Sorry.
At any rate, I have been constantly working on the little beast for at least three months now, more than enough time to restore a 1968 Shelby GT 500 — which is an Empress, not a queen — and I have begun a game with her sort of like peek-a-boo. I wake up every morning and cover my eyes as I prepare to head to the office then peek to see what kind of damage she did to herself overnight.
At first it was a little like Christmas, just more masochistic, but now it’s just sadistic behavior on her part.
It’s almost like a soap opera — As the Flywheel Turns I suppose it would be called — and I am some swarthy — yes, I dared to call myself swarthy — doctor with a name like Rock Ferguson.
My entire storyline is composed of repeated efforts to bring the main female character back to life time and again, from comas, rare Mediterranean diseases, African viruses, and a string of hysteria-induced illnesses that have no name. I never get to have a romantic storyline, which is really a shame because I think I could pull it off, just one medical emergency after another.
Well, in this installment of As the Flywheel Turns, Rock Ferguson is walking to work in the rain some five plus miles, sipping coffee and having self-induced hallucinations from lack of sleep. It seems the Queen decided it was time for her waistline to go and belts are popping all over the place.
And poor Dr. Rock is at a loss.
He has tried intravenous oil, reconstructive surgery in many places, and even some psychotherapy, taking a moment each morning to reassure her she is still strong and worthy. Alas, Ferguson’s efforts have begun to fail him and the hands he once viewed as a surgeon’s precision instruments are now useless pieces of flesh, dangling from well defined arms. He is despondent.
As he walks, he remembers all of those times he refused to let go, always fighting to save her.
“She’s not gonna die! Not on my watch! Now, run out for a valve and ball bearings! It’s all ball bearings these days!”
Nurse Ratchet, the lovelorn young candy striper who desperately pines for Rock Ferguson’s amorous attention, is always ready with a suggestion, despite her lack of knowledge of the patient and the history the two of them have.
“Doctor, I don’t think you can save her this time! What are we ever going to do? Maybe you should just let her go …”
Dr. Rock, always so stubborn in his belief in his own abilities, refuses.
“There’s no way I’m gonna quit on her now! Do you know how much we have been through together?!?!? If it were you on that lift rack, would you want me to walk away and just let you go???”
Of course she wouldn’t. He’s Rock Ferguson, for crying out loud.
Instead, Dr. Rock calls in a specialist, something he has never had to do. The specialist says he can save her, but he doesn’t know for how long and what quality of life she may have.
Then the question no one wants to hear makes its inevitable appearance as the specialist places a gentle hand on Dr. Rock’s shoulder, care in his eyes.
“Are you sure this is the life you want her to have?”
It only takes a second for Ferguson to decide.
“You put her back together and I will take her home. I’ll never let her go, understand me? I don’t care if all she’s held together by is imagination, Duct tape and spit!”
I just bought a roll of Duct tape and have been hydrating regularly. Looks like it’s going to be a long, dry mouth winter.
