Last winter, a little spot of paint on the roof of my car came a bit loose, I assume from the cold, and then when I made the mistake of going through a car wash, the paint ripped completely off, leaving about a fist size hole just above the passenger seat. Whether from the cold or (as I suspect) the neighborhood kids picking at it, over the last several months the fist size hole has expanded dramatically; it now almost covers a quarter of the roof.

But this would not be so bad, except this week I discovered new holes starting on both the hood and the trunk of the car. At this rate, by the time it warms up enough to use some of that touch up paint, the top half of my car is going to have no paint on it. It really does look like it has some sort of skin disease.

Isn't it funny how, once you live on your own, there's suddenly all these inane little tasks to do? In the grand scheme of things, fixing my car's paint job is really low on my priority list. I can still drive the car, so it's not something that must be attended to right away. It's certainly more important to tend to my writing and other schoolwork, not to mention the small tasks that must be done so that my daily life runs fairly smoothly, like laundry and doing the dishes. But every time I walk out to my car, I see the spots and I think "damn, I've got to take care of that." Maybe that's what adulthood really is: the creation of a permanent mental To Do list.