My weekend almost went well.

I had to clean the Craft Center for a makeup shift on Saturday--supposedly for four hours, but most of the first hour was wasted waiting on a manager to come back, and after I cleaned one lab, she let me go early...by 12:25. So I did a double header of geek movies, including seeing Avengers again. Good times. I also did some magazine buying and got the groceries bought early. It was a godawful windy day, so a good one to mostly spend indoors anyway.

Sunday was a driving day. I was fairly nervous about it because I was going to try driving to Sacramento alone for the second time, and farther out than just the downtown area. I get really confused at the freeways--seriously, why are they called 80, 50, and "Business 80?" Why the hell couldn't they call that last one a different effing number so I don't think I'm on the right path when I'm not? Anyway, that's how I've crapped it up in the past. I read multiple versions of the driving instructions, trying to figure out where the hell it is that I've gone wrong. And happily, this time I figured it out.

I drove to the Discovery museum in Sac to take pictures of their yarn-bombed lawn area, which was adorable. Did not go in the museum though, as it sounded like it's geared to small children, plus I saw the cool stuff outside already. Then I went to DSW and bought shoes since my sandals are falling apart. I was really proud of myself for sticking to driving I-80 instead of getting confused and ending up on 50 or Business 80, and for finding the mall area. Good job, me....

And THEN. On my way back into the parking lot, I turned left past the little island thing and something scraped the length of the car. I swear I didn't drive on the curb, I don't know what the hell happened. My guess is that a sign was sticking out or...something? I honestly don't know what. Couldn't see anything in the moment or afterwards. But there was obviously a huge scrape all along the left side of the car all the way to the back, and it was obviously my fucking fault. I had to report myself to Zipcar and fill out an incident report. They are being nice and not suspending my account so far (which really surprised the shit out of me there), but fuck if I know how much that is going to cost me to repair.

It's like 95% of the time I am super careful and paranoid and driving under the speed limit or only a few miles over, and looking, and looking, and all that stuff...and then there's this 5% of me where I apparently just go crazy or turn into a damn idiot and I fuck up mightily. Now I've given myself a nice black mark with Zipcar, there goes the savings, etc. I feel like a total idiot. And like I shouldn't drive for awhile. Even if Zipcar doesn't stop me, I feel stupid and like a car-trasher.

The whole week has kind of been a giant anvil on my head, really. I got invited to a long-distance wedding in San Luis Obispo and have been debating if I am up to handling such a thing or not. Every other long-distance wedding I've been invited to, I had to turn down because I was a non-driving moron who couldn't get myself there without my mommy driving me. This time, between being able to drive, rent a car, and even pay for a hotel room with an actual real credit card (since it is horribly bad to do so with debit and all that), I could actually go like a semi-real adult. And supposedly the highways aren't nearly as bad to figure out going there as opposed to like, the Bay Area. But then I apparently have to have moments like this one to whammy my building confidence. Grrrrrrr.

And I asked someone for advice about moving to LA and got told that I need to have a plan and unshakeable confidence before I move, period. Which, uh...is a good point. I am not sure if waiting to find my bliss before doing anything is doing any good at this point, since after 5 years of trying to figure that out I'm still not anywhere. I'm not even sure if I care that much WHAT I do there any more as long as it's different/more interesting. I can't do performing (I'd love to do it, but alas, figured out freshman year of college that I suck at it. Don't have the looks or fuckability either) and I don't really want to be a screenwriter, so uh...what else is there?

I ran into Dawn today at lunch and told her the whole thing and she was all, "Well, other than the career thing, you did have a pretty concrete plan for how to do a move." So there's that. We then had a conversation about how in the biographies/autobiographies she'd read, it seems like the people who knew what they wanted to do early on, who then went and did it, are the happiest. That sounds right. I wish I was one of those people. Well, I wanted to be a ballerina--or other kind of showoff on stage, I didn't care what so much--but if I can't do that, then what?

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