This week needs to end. NOW.

This morning, after waking up late, yet again, I had to run out and start my car in order to get the fresh layer of snow and ice that we got for the twelve-hundredth day in a row off of my windshield so little energy would be expensed scraping. When it came time to leave 15 minutes later, I still had some scraping to do, but luckily it came off like butter. I started to drive away when I tested my wipers. Nothing. Not even an attempt. I got out to make sure all the ice was off of the base, got back in and tried again. Nothing. I get out again (mind you, with windchill, it's -3 degrees out) to attempt to get even more ice out from under the blades, and I actually starting pounding with all of my might with my ice scraper, chipping away as if I were trying to escape from being trapped under it and that one little chip will give me my next breath necessarily for survival. Get back in...Nothing. I then do the next logical thing and start screaming and swearing at the top of my lungs to the air in my car, I pound on the steering wheel for that added effect. I figured out I had left my wipers on when I shut my car off, and while the car was warming up, the little motor was trying it's damndest to pry through the ice that had the wipers pinned. And if you are like my friend in Australia who had no clue what this would lead to because he's never had to deal with this shit...it leads to a broken wiper motor.

Normally, I would not have gotten so upset over such a little thing. But what with the snow as of late, the accident, my bumper falling off, the snow, my console all sticking out, the snow, the fact that I had an hour commute ahead of me, and the FUCKING SNOW THAT WON'T QUIT, I decided it was time to lose it. So right there in front of my little house in my little town before 8 a.m., I had a mini-breakdown. Only it continued in the form of crying the entire drive (that without traffic takes 20 minutes) to work. I was embarrassed I was going to be late again for the 3rd time in a row this week, and there was nothing I could do about it.

(Well, ok, I could've left earlier. I could have not broken down in a rage in the middle of the road. I could have actually gotten out of my bed at a normal time. But I like to think of those things as out of my control.)

Just now I decided to see if I could find out how much it would cost to replace it, and I found out it would be 75 dollars for a new one. Ouch.