Baloo, though I love him dearly, is sucking out my soul, not to mention my monetary units. The repair bill just to get him (and me) home from Michigan was pretty steep, not to mention the repair guys noticed "an odor" while they were prodding about in Baloo's innards. The fuel line is apparently seeping and could upgrade to dripping. The thought of gasoline dripping with hot exhaust fumes close to a gas tank is not exactly what I would term reassuring. The repair bill for a fuel line is even more astronomical. I broke the bank to get home, but I just don't have the money to pay for this, so if the problem gets any worse, I'm effectively screwed.
I called the parents (on vacation in Florida still) in a repressed panic. I really think I do all right with things, unless it is many things, all happening simultaneously. This is one of those times, and it usually seems to have something to do with this blasted car (sorry, Baloo). Baloo is a venerable 15-year-old Pontiac Bonneville, dented (by my brother) on the front right side and with numerous other problems. Beyond that though, he is a solid, loveable car. But I'm starting to think that pouring all this money into a car headed for the grave is really just not a good idea. Anyway, Dad suggested taking it to Gary (a mechanic in Clarksville we can trust) and having him look at it. Meanwhile, I will take Dad's company pick-up truck as a loaner. The old red one. The one that's somewhat similar to driving the Titanic. Yike. So this will happen as soon as I have a day off after New Year's. ACK.
The bottom line is, if Baloo does need the fuel line repaired, his days are numbered. I simply can't afford it, and Dad agrees that spending so much money on him is starting to be ludicrous.. I might look into buying a car (used). Not that I can afford that either, but if I'm going to drain my bank account, I might as well do it as an investment.
Poor Baloo.
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