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dedicated to (the process)

"everyone who blooms late in life, whether you're a writer or anything else because you never, 
never know.-Julia Glass


I've been asked, "why did you you move?" 
why? did? i? move?
good question. there are moments when i ask myself that question about nine hundred times a day, especially after i purchased my un-sexy Volvo wagon that immediately cost me 150+ to pass the Texas vehicle emissions test because not only did the car have dry-rotted belts, the horn doesn't work which is a portion of the safety test. makes sense. horn...blow...people can hear you when the brakes fail. the mechanic attempted to bribe me, asking for a 'tip'. "a tip, what're we talkin' about here?" he wanted five dollars. well god knows i tried to give it to him but as a he continued to work  it was somewhat difficult and ridiculous. i drove away feeling angry and empty. the following day i was given bad where-to-transfer-the-title information which led to my parking right outside the sheriff/constable's office where i discovered the source of a bellowing whopping noise...the right rear tire had BLOWN! JMandJ! my friend showed up to help me change it and we found that although there was an inflated sub tire, we had no jack. so we borrowed one, from the sheriff's department where i was parked with expired stickers, also the sellers responsibility. once at 'discount tire' we were told that the rim was bent(prior to purchase) and had to be replaced, just 565 smackers IF i got it from a dealer...but no, we're at 'tire discount'  so for 175 they special ordered it and it should be here by thursday, maybe. and, and the tires, can't replace one without replacing another...so once i found the title place and paid taxes for new plates and a sticker, it was a mere 226 which included the three percent charge for using a credit card because i don't normally carry hundreds of dollars...are you laughing? i am.
so why did i move? i'm getting there, slowly but surely.

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