i just adored my car when i bought it, chiefly because it replaced a $300 mitsubishi microtruck with an oil leak, a bad clutch, a rickety front end, no upholstery whatsoever, and almost no light lenses to speak of. and dents. lots of dents. among other problems. rust. a chronically leaky but huge front tire that was worth more than the whole vehicle, so i just had to keep putting air in it. the truck sucked. and not well. the buick felt like a real car, it felt wonderful the first day i bought it and it rained, and i didn’t feel like i was going to go skittering off the road if i exceeded 50mph. oh try driving like that in southern california! they don’t slow down in the rain, and you’re clinging to the steering wheel in terror while people weave and zoom around your small rattletrap deathmobile, feeling for all the world like you were gonna die.
and now. and now. dang buick needs some sort of major tune-up, it stopped starting briefly the other night and intermittently now flashes the battery light, it groans deep in the front end when you back up, and needs about a dozen other little things it can’t have right now, because it came from ugly duckling with crippling payments. a normal person with normal credit would have a shiny newish lexus for these payments. me? a 7 year old buick.
and this is how my mind works: i hope something happens. something non-lethal, not my fault, and sufficient to cause someone else’s insurance to get me into another vehicle. i don’t have a normal mind that thinks, oh, i should budget and cut back and get the car all fixed up and struggle through the next year (which is how long i have till i can trade the shuddering piece of buick in). i just want to make it go away. and maybe a little pain and suffering settlement to … see? i have to stop thinking like this. it’s sick. i keep thinking the next time an asshole almost creams me, i won’t get out of the way, but i can’t seem to overcome my collision avoidance mechanism long enough to get a little whiplash and some pain meds and a check. ok, and i know that’s crazy. i do. it’s extremely crazy. it is.
i hate cars. i mean i love them, i adore a nice car and by nice i’m not even that picky, but then they turn on me like this. and this makes me crazy.