I’m currently sitting at work, waiting for a call from my mechanic, to tell me what’s wrong with my car and how much repairs are going to cost. Again.
I’m not exactly surprised – the car is 17 years old, and shit happens when your car is practically old enough to vote. This, of course, doesn’t make it any more pleasant to shell out a ton of money on what-the-fuck-ever is jacked up THIS time.
So why not get another car? I hear you asking.
Well, that brings us to last night, and me sobbing, uncontrollably, to Jay.
See, I’m in my mid-40s, and I have never, even once in my life, decided on a car I’d like to have and then went and bought it. Every vehicle I have ever owned or driven, including the current one, has been the result of taking what I could get at the time.
A while back, though, I made up my mind that I was going to set up a plan, and I was
getting what I really wanted next time.
Since the age of 16, I have really, really wanted a Jeep. Originally, my teenage heart was set on a Wrangler, but adult me has decided on a Patriot.
With all the redesigns Jeeps have had, most of the lineup looks like every other SUV on the road these days, and the Wrangler and Patriot are pretty much the only ones left that still look like Jeeps, but the Patriot is about half the price.
And I do NOT want a $500 a month car payment.
Just writing that makes me shudder.
Anyway, plan is in place, and things are trucking along in the right direction. Until a couple days ago, when I’ve suddenly got a rough idle out of nowhere, in the aforementioned 17-year-old Saturn, and we come to the conclusion last night that yeah, we have to get this checked out.
And since my brain hates me, it set up a lovely anxiety spiral, where in a
matter of minutes I had myself convinced the repair was going to be way more than we can afford, which means getting rid of the car and finding something else before we’re ready, which means getting what I actually want for the first time in my life is out the window, which lead to the aforementioned hysterical crying, while I told Jay I am never going to have anything and I was stupid and selfish for ever thinking otherwise.
So that was dramatic. (ummmm… yeah? xoxo Dissy)
Thank the Goddess I have Jay, and he has figured out how to talk me through moments like these.
Don’t get me wrong… my mechanic is a great guy. He’s fair, honest, and has never charged me more than what was reasonable for whatever needed to be done. My car just likes to break in the most expensive ways it can think of.
So here I sit, doing the same things I do every workday and waiting for the phone
STOP it. We just did all that yoga. Find your peace, sista.
Until Next Time…
P.S. Just so you all know, Barb’s car repairs were reasonable, and she is able to keep on track to her goals. She is not going to die of a heart attack, but she may give herself an ulcer, and she needs to chill. ❤