How does one determine that one had not had sufficient caffeine? The grogginess? The mild headache? The questioning of one's prescription because the world seems ever so slightly out of focus?
No. Today I discovered the acid test.
I had just parked the car in the garage, and had gathered up my purse and a few sundry items strewn around the floor, and I was trying to leave the car with all of these things hanging from my shoulders and arm when I discovered that the blasted car would NOT stop beeping.
The car that just went into the dealership twice because neither of its enormous sliding doors would open or slide, the car that is slowly making me crazy, the car that collects trash as if it had a side job as a bag-lady, the car that no matter what I do (Good LORD I do not NEED this right now!) will not stop fucking beeping at me.
Closed the door, and the beeping stops. Excellent. Lights off. Car in Park. Emergency brake on. OK then.
Open the door: Weet! Weet! Weet! Weet!
I hate this car. I just want to get inside now. And dammit, I've parked so close to the box which contains a set of shelves which still need to be assembled so that I can get everything off the floor of the garage that I cannot get out of the Weet! Weet! Weet! car.
I really have to repark the damned thing, but there's this large hole in the driveway surrounded by construction tape which, atthough I have plenty of room to maneuver, just gets me annoyed whenever I back out of the garage.
AT&T came about a week ago to dig up the sidewalk, blocked only my driveway, and then disappeared into the fog which eats contractors right after they have sunk a huge hole in your living room wall. And every time I look in the rear view mirror and see the sawhorse and the construction tape, I get annoyed at AT&T; I remember that this morning I have to wrestle my way through voice mail hell once again to get them to come out and finish the job. ("What is wrong with your line?" "There's nothing wrong with my line. I don't even know why they're here. They showed up and dug a hole." "Why did you request service?" "I didn't request service! I just want to know when they will come to fix the hole!") Weet. Weet. Weet.
Ugh! Fine! I'll just repark the stupid thing.
Put the bags down, toss the purse in the passenger seat, and fumble for the keys. Where the hell are the keys? Wha? How could I lose them sitting here?
And then the fog of drug deprevation lifts. Ahh. The Keys. The car is trying to tell me something. Wow. I REALLY need some coffee.
Because I've never turned the car off. It's been idling the entire time, keys in the ignition, which is why the car said, "Weet. Weet. Weet." every time I opened the door.