Get it? You probably don’t understand why my title is hilarious. I’ll explain: I’m at the tire repair place getting a nail out of my tire. And that is why I am tired. Nailed it (← which is what got me here).

I got there at 3:30 and at 4:45, a young man came into the waiting room to alert me that, “we’re pretty swamped, but I promise we’ll get to your car soon.” What he meant was, “we realize you got here over an hour ago, but we knew ahead of time that you had 3 midterms and 4 papers due this week and we have a personal vendetta against you for an unknown reason, but I promise we’ll get to your car soon.” Well at least he promised.

I really should’ve been more prepared for this – I did not bring my computer. But at least I had headphones in my purse so I could listen to Fiddler on the Roof in preparation for the next karaoke night. Sadly, all I had in my bag was a spiral notebook and a pen with no lid. To the naked, ill-informed eye, this seems perfect for someone who claims to enjoy writing, but alas, it’s actually the worst. Because here’s the thing: I hate writing. I mean I love the concept, but I hate the process of literally putting pen to paper. Typing I can do; in fact, I enjoy typing. The sound of my fingers dancing across the keyboard is so collegiate it’s all just very good.

But I’d rather spend the night in this tire repair waiting room than write with my hands for a long period of time. First of all, I don’t know if I’m a righty or a lefty. I switched hands after a basketball injury back in the day, which would be cooler if I weren’t now equally bad with both hands (I like to classify myself as ambidex-atrocious). I believe my brain is confused now too and it’s ultimately just resulted in a massive identify crisis.

I can’t read either hand’s work and my writing has even been suggested to resemble that of a serial killer’s (thanks Collin. Why not just a doctor..?). There’s really not much I can do about it. I mean I could revert back to kindergarten and practice my penmanship. But, if I did that, I would begin with a nap, followed by outdoor time and then reward my outdoor efforts with a snack. That’s the kindergarten I choose to remember.

This post has gone in a different direction than I initially intended, and I bet you can guess the reason: I couldn’t read my first, hand-written draft. And in case anyone was concerned, I drove away with a shiny new tire at 6:30 with cramps in both hands.

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