Both literally and figuratively.
Lets start with the literal.
Our gas gauge on the Buick is broken. I asked Trevor this morning if it needed gas and he said no since he just filled up the other day.
Apparently we've driven a lot since the other day.
This morning I dropped the kids off at school (we just barely missed the bus...) and went on my way to the gym. About a 1/2 a mile away the car starts sputtering and doing all kinds of crazy electrical things. I knew what was happening. Even though it hasn't happened since I was 17, I knew. I ran out of gas. But the car didn't decide to completely stall until I was just turning into the entrance of the middle school where I was going to leave the car until I could get some gas. A couple of sweet, kind-hearted moms stopped and helped me push the car into the parking lot. I decided to be proactive and not sit on my butt in the car till someone came to bring me gas, and I began the walk to the gas station.
It was -6 degrees outside. I was dressed for the gym wearing a hoodie, black capri leggings, and some tennis shoes.
I thought my ears were falling off by the time I got to the gas station. I bought some gloves and a gas can, filled it up, and began the walk back to the car. It wasn't as short a walk as I thought it would be when I started out.
I have never been so cold in my entire life. It was a terrible experience. When Trevor and I talked about it this evening and I told him that I probably wouldn't have had to walk if I had swallowed my pride and asked for some help from a neighbor or a stranger, he reminded me that maybe this was a lesson for me on overcoming my pride...he said it kindly, by the way and I took no offense. It's true. I could have made the situation better by accepting or asking for help.
Next time, I will for sure be calling someone to come rescue me. I could have died. (not really but I felt like it)
I made it back to the car and got the car running again and headed home.
That's when I figuratively ran out of gas. I didn't want to do anything else for the rest of the day. I did the necessary things but I mainly just sat in front of a warm fire all day long. And when Trevor came home he decided that the best thing for us to do was to go out to dinner as a family. It was a really good ending to a pretty bad day.
But seriously, these last few months have been hard. It seems like one thing after another not going right. I know I don't adapt to change easily or with any amount of grace (I'm quite foolish at times) but I'm over it. I want summer and my kids home all day and freckles and water and tans and a nice warm sun. And a trip to the Bahamas...only 81 days to go and Trevor and I will spend a nice long week relaxing in perfect weather on a beautiful (? never been there) island. only 81 more days...only 81 more days...only 81 more days........