I’ve written about how since Steve’s death it always feels like there are two distinct parts of my brain going at all times: the one that will always be completely and utterly devastated and has a hard time getting out of bed every day, and the part that realizes that like it or not, stuff still has to get done and I don’t have a choice, so out of bed we go.

The gotta-get-stuff done side has had a really aggravating couple of weeks. Steve and I divided and conquered when it came to household chores, with him taking on the more traditional male jobs, like mowing the grass and maintaining the cars, and I did the more traditional female stuff like the laundry and making dinner. Of course, we both pitched in to help the other when necessary, and we could both squeak by as long we knew the other one would eventually take the reins again.

I grew up holding enough flashlights for my Dad, and Steve and I worked on a lot of big projects together, so I’m not completely inept, but when it comes to mechanical skills, nothing is second nature to me.

I’m not daring enough to try anything major when it comes to car repairs, but in the last year, I’ve managed to become pretty proficient at the small stuff, like changing out turn signal bulbs and replacing wiper blades. Then, one of the headlights went dark.

I did my research and found the proper model replacement bulb. I checked out a few how-to videos, and got to work. (My single most valuable tool is a small battery operated drill/driver ... and yes, I had to look up what it was actually called on the internet, because I mostly refer to it as the screwy-inner-thing-a-ma-bobber.) I removed all of the screws and of course the headlight casing wouldn’t budge. There were two tiny small plastic latches that the internet claimed would “pop right out.”

Now, I have come to learn that that is the biggest lie on the internet. Nothing every “pops right out.” I try never to force anything, but eventually, my frustration takes over and something gets a good wallop. After about five minutes of prodding and pulling, the casing finally gave, and it was certainly not a pop, more like a reluctant disengagement.

We acquired my current vehicle second hand, and I will never make that mistake again. I have had to find out the hard way that things got modified along the way, like the lug nuts that were two different sizes, and, it turns out, the headlight bulbs, which were not the size and shape that were recommended for my make and model. Disgusted, I shoved everything back together, jammed the headlight back into place, and headed back to the auto parts store.

As I pulled in to the parking lot, I happened to catch my vehicle’s reflections in the store window. Both headlights were blazing away. I have no idea what happened, I guess something might have been loose, and my fiddling fixed it. I’m taking it as a win. And, working on figuring out what bulb my car actually does need for when it inevitably blows out for good.

The next adventure happened when G decided it was time to get “the boat” out and back on the water. I do not know the first thing about driving with a trailer in tow. Not a single blessed thing. At first, G told me he just needed it pulled out of the storage shed so that he could work on it in the open air. The mothballs that it had been packed away with were overpowering.

I asked him if we could just push it out ourselves, and got the first of many eye rolls. He assured me that he could get it all hooked up and all I would need to do was pull it forward maybe 6 feet. G failed to take into account that coming out of the shed six feet, plus the length of the boat, plus the length of my vehicle put me about eight feet through the fence that was in front of the shed. This required just a little bit of maneuvering back and forth, which took a lot more skill than I had. G also speaks in “lefts” and “rights” whereas I am fluent in “this ways” and “that ways” which didn’t help. But, after many more eye rolls, we managed.

Two days later, he informed me that he was going to need the boat moved all the way around the house and parked on a small hill so that he could rinse it out with the hose and have all the water drain out the back end. At this point, all I could tell myself was that we were either going to pull this off successfully, or we weren’t going to have a boat problem anymore, so either way, it was a win. Hey, if we ended up taking the car out, well I wouldn’t have anymore “surprise it doesn’t fit” moments with that, either.

I spent the entire 20 minutes that it took me to drive 200 yards around the house, making the straightest circle ever, alternately crying my eyes out thinking about our last family vacation, and driving all the way to Maine with the boat, and cursing Steve out for leaving me in this predicament. G’s sigh of relief when we got it parked was tangible, both because we got his beloved boat moved safely, and because it meant the crazy lady could go back in the house. I’m not entirely sure what the next step will be; perhaps I will just have a giant boat lawn ornament from now until forever.

Of course, if I do that, I will need to mow and weed whack around the thing, which brings me to the latest predicament that I’m in, Liz versus Lawn mower, but that adventure is still unfolding, and I’m not going to write about it until I regain the upper hand over that stupid hunk of metal.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing columnist who appears weekly in the Times News.