Wiper Blades

I can't really state this any clearer: my wiper blades suck.

This fact was no more evident than when I left work after an extended evening yesterday. It was well below freezing, and I had to wipe a dusting of snow from all windows of my car. (One disadvantage of my job is that I do have to park outside.) I then pulled from the parking lot with a somewhat cool engine and headed home.

Not a block out of work the windshield devolved into a crystaline mess, foggy and blurred. The wipers weren't doing anything to free up the unfolding road to my eyes. I was left with one pithy option: hit the spritz.

Needless to say it was a fleeting fix. The blue juice hit the glass giving me four euphoric seconds of sight only to be replaced with a furious bob-and-weave effort to find the appearing and disappearing windows to peek through. It was absolutely dangerous magnified by the fact that the road home is old, narrow, and well-traveled. I came close to seeking shelter by pulling into a cemetery and hoping to avoid a sudded outbreak of irony.

This being said, I can't begin to convey my need to get new wiper blades. It's a need that's been evident for over a year now. The current pair are flimsy thin little strips that would make German engineers weep. Ach du lieber!

Yet, this unwillingness to drop $18 on a new pair underscores a horrid personality flaw I trot out on occasions. No, I'm not cheap. In fact I try to enjoy the finest things my meager pay will allow. However, I will put off enjoying those things as much as possible. As the old joke will tell, want to know how much I procrastinate? I'll tell you later.

Freud would be pleased to know that I did pick this up from my parents, however it definitely is a nurture over nature germ. Pavlov quickly chimes in and notes that I've been so successful procrastinating (i.e. vacation plans, research papers, laundry for the honeymoon) that I'm conditioned to wait to the breaking point and most likely enjoy the rush of the madness. Either way though it's still a habit I'd love to shed.

No, I fear no social stigma. I'm neither fat, drunk, nor a terrorist when I'm putting off the necessary, so I should be able to continue to flash my visage in public. Actually, I'm convinced of a need to change based upon seeing similar situations from the opposite side. I have, at times mind you, been prepared in advance for various situations and reveled in how swimmingly those events unfolded. These moments continue to irk at me every time I'm sifting through a basket of clean, yet unfolded, laundry in the morning. Still I know that asking me to do things in a timely and prepared manner would be like asking Dennis Hopper not to address me anyone as "Man."

There's 6 - 8 inches of snow forcast for the next 36 hours here at the crossroads of I-65, 69, 70, & 74. I'd like to think that I'll pick up a new set of wiper blades sometime tonight. Then again, I've promised the wife to put up the Christmas tree.

Frosted glass, here I come.