Everything is a slipping seatpost.

I’ve fallen into the rut of letting my worrying about all my shiny possessions get the best of me again. My new bike’s seatpost slips. After messing with the quick-release and grease and etc., I am nearly positive it is because the seatpost collar is a poor design that doesn’t work.  Not the end of the world, and I wanted to replace that quick-release anyway, having had my seat stolen before.

Friday: I call the bike shop, and when they offer to order me one, I say, No thanks, I’ll be in later to get something anyway. But I never make it because I get mad at the idea of crushing my frame (as if steel is not stronger than that $5 part or as if I’m even that strong!). My phone rings. I don’t recognize the number, and I throw it. Hard. It explodes on the floor, and I almost have a melt-down because of my shiny shit. I mean, I’m fucking shaking, as ashamed as I am to admit it.

Then the messenger bag that I had sent away for a warranty repair (which was itself a replacement for a very very defective bag and on which I have spent $55 in shipping to date) came back un-fixed, after they told me they fixed it. I was even madder. Tried to call them to yell at them (which I never do), but they were not there even though they were supposed to be.  So I sent them an email at the end of business Friday. An angry email.  When I left to go to dinner at Golden West, though, I felt better. Shit is shit, and fuck it all, I thought. It felt fantastic.  I didn’t give a fuck or a shit or a hill of fucking beans about anything material and ate spicy food and washed it down with Pabst and had a very relaxing weekend.

Then I let my seatpost woes ruin my week again. Have I ordered a new collar yet? No. That would make sense. Can I plainly see that I have not, in fact, wrecked my frame? Yes. Am I losing my fucking mind over this? Possibly. I mean, I should cut myself some slack. I did go three months off of a bike, and my three bigger injuries (hand, wrist, foot) bother me regularly when I cycle. But still. I am getting distracted at work reading about slipping seatposts on forums at lunchtime, instead of my favorite lunchbreak activity (taking off my shoes and reading for an hour).

Perhaps the solution is to burn all my shit? Heh heh heh. Tempting.

On the bright side, I’ll get a new seatpost collar, it will probably work, and all will be well on that front. My new phone comes today, and I was due for a new one anyway (and it was free). And the company in question responded to my pissy email with a, Pick whatever bag you want, and it’s yours, response.

And I’m going to Washington DC to see Tori Amos this weekend, an early birthday present from my sweet wife.  A long weekend in DC and then a little shindig Sunday for my Dad’s 60th birthday.  Not bad.  A normal person would be excited about this and not worried about a piece of fucking metal.

Oh, and I turn 30 four weeks from Sunday.  That, I’m not happy about.  I wanna skip this decade and just turn 40 — it seems like more fun.  I’m afraid my 30s are going to be another decade of doing stupid shit and worrying about stupid shit and so missing out on awesome shit like my 20s have totally and completely been.

But, I guess,  you never know.