Ah, The Pen

I went to this thing tonight where people tell stories. This is the beginning of my stories. The Buick It reached it's pinnacle when I watched it being hoisted onto the tow truck. The fact that the towing company was called "Rock n Roll" towing helped ease the sting, but still, this was too much. Courtney had come with snacks because my blood sugar was crashing and through my stress exhaustion, I was ready to kiss her feet for the cheddar pretzels she brought from the DA's office. But she agreed with me, which made it worse, because she is into voodoo, so must feel these things more than me: "There's something up with this car." And by "something," she meant bad. It was just too weird, we both agreed, that lots of crazy things kept happening with it that brought misery into an already stressful time in my life, and seemed to throw a wrench into the fun I was trying to have despite said stress. Like when the tire exploded on my way to a long-anticipated beach getaway with a fuck buddy and had $10 left to spend all weekend due to an $80 tire replacement. Or when I got pulled over and arrested a month before that for a surprise suspended license. Or when I ran out of gas to see another fuck buddy and I had to be pushed through the rest of the intersection by a lesbian in an SUV. That's just half of what happened in the last 3 months. A few days after the towing incident, I was convinced that the universe hated me and had somehow cursed my car as a mean trick, and that shit like this only happened to me, and "why me?" I met Courtney for coffee and had forced her to bring along her voodoo cards, desperate for some sort of answer or not to feel some invisible forces in the world were against me every time I even turned the ignition in my car. But she smiled as she read them, and told me I should keep the car. I don't know what voodoo gods she pulled, but they had something to do with the universe showing me love. I may have just been wanting to find meaning in some cards, but I realized then how each time my car put me in the shitter, one or more of my friends had showed they care about me by taking me to get gas at 10 at night, bringing me snacks to help prevent a blood-sugar emergency, or sending consoling texts. I smiled big the next time I turned the ignition, knowing something, maybe my car, is showing me I am loved.