Aaaaagh.
It is official.

I don't know what I did or who I pissed off, but someone in the cosmic department of overlooking travelers really doesn't like me.

Last night I started my car only to find that the battery was out. Dad charged it with his little chargy box and I was good to go. 7am this morning, he tried to start it and it worked fine. 8am this morning I try to start it and it doesn't work.

So I charge up again and take myself down to AutoZone for a battery change, where my car is diagnosed with having a broken alternator. Much cursing ensues and Dad agrees to drive me up instead--I'd have said 'fuck it' and waited for the alternator to get repaired, but it would be missing Physics twice in two weeks.

At 11am Dad and I are halfway to UNCA when my mom calls--apparently the local auto repair place looked at my car and said there was nothing wrong with it, it just needed a battery replaced. To Dad's credit he managed to keep the cursing confined to the phone and did not turn his wrath on me.

For those not in the know, this is the second time my car's had problems right before I went off to school, leading to an emergency drive-up from one of my parents, and that's not counting all the other difficulties I've had when traveling any distance longer than a city's width. Something needs doing, I'm just not sure what.