Maintenance

It's time to admit to you guys that I grew up in a broken home.

Wait wait. My parents are still together, and they're pretty much obsessed with one another.

But everything in their house is broken, and has been for quite some time.

Issue 1:  Lightbulbs burn out, and aren't replaced - including in the refrigerator, which has been void of wattage for at least six years now.
Back story:  Bulbs burn out at an alarming rate in that house, even though electricians have said we don’t have faulty wiring. We choose to blame the ghosts of my paternal grandparents, because a psychic once told my aunt that they were fighting for my dad's affection from the grave.

Issue 2: For a few months, we had an enormous piece of hockey tape holding the dryer door on after a screw fell off.
Lame excuse: No one could find the number for the home warranty hotline. Once that was located, no one wanted to stay home for the repair appointment window.

Issue 3: Any time a printer is needed, it requires a 45-minute process of downloading drivers, adjusting settings, shaking print cartridges, and screaming at my father, an IT guru who is somehow rendered useless when the technology is coming from inside the house.
What gives? Nothing. I think my dad is just sick of fixing stuff by the time he gets home.

__

In short, we’re not so good at maintenance. As an adult, I'm realizing I'm also a hot mess.

Rather than labeling my mailbox as directed, I waited until the mail carrier wrote a threatening letter to me seven months after move-in. (I didn’t have any tape.)

One month after we started dating, Jeff forcefully drove Suze the Subaru to AutoZone to see why my check engine light was on. What were you going to do?  he asked incredulously. Just drive it until it blew up?!

NO. I said calmly. I was going to drive her until the light went back OFF, as it has several times before.

(This was not the answer he was looking for.)

Anyway, I turn 28 tomorrow. And this shall be a year of maintenance, people. I will back my phone up to the Cloud. I will sew the buttons back onto my favorite fall coat, which I wore last year as an open blazer. I will permanently fix the piece of plastic that falls onto my passenger’s laps when I drive Suze.

Mark my words. I’m pulling it together. Just as soon as I can figure out which computer I last backed up to six months ago.