Add Water

I noticed the smoke while sitting at the red light, clouds of it, pouring from underneath the car. Unalarmed, I looked around to see which vehicle was in distress, then caught sight of the thermostat, and with a shock, realized that it was mine.

At the service station, they poured gallons of water under the hood while I listened to the lava like bubbling noises echoing out and the hiss of cold water hitting hot metal. Start 'er up, the mechanic directed, and the needle instantly swung into the danger zone. Shut 'her down, he called. This went on for the better part of twenty minutes. They added more water, peered into the engine, added more water, uncapped the radiator, added more water, looked at the undercarriage, added more water. They found nothing wrong and added more water, reckoned that it was cool enough to drive and that I could get back to work safely. I got about a block.

A more or less civilized morning at the doctor's office had suddenly turned into a nightmare. I had been on my way to pick up a prescription for my abscessing tooth - now in full throb mode - when the disaster struck. Now I found myself without pills and without a car, late for work, in serious pain, and at my wits end. From somewhere inside my head I heard a voice repeating AA slogans, Easy does it, and First things first, and One Step at a Time. I took a breath, regrouped, and began a simple priority list: Get back to work, deal with everything else later.

Panic is a tricky, treacherous thing and it can snatch you without warning and throw you into a pit where logic and clear thinking can't follow. Rage and fractured emotions are waiting to welcome you, everything is beyond your ability and out of your control. You discover you can only think in the negative and only in terms of defeat. You began to empathize with Job only you don't have his faith. It's a good time to step back, take a second look and a couple of aspirin. Add water.