AN OPEN LETTER TO MY LIFE

Dear Life,

First off, I would like to thank you for the fact that I got into my master's program and that I got a nice chunk of scholarship money from USC.  That was probably the best thing that's happened in my life since I moved to California.

While I appreciate the magnitude of awesome that was presented to me in the way of school, I don't think it's quite the caliber of luck (say, winning $10 million) that would justify YOU SHITTING ALL OVER ME for my remaining 80 days as a non-student.  Seriously, I got the picture.  Once is enough.

After my minor breakdown and extreme necessity of a trip to visit my parents, somehow you came through with airline points to get me a free flight, despite it leaving at 1:35am.  I'll take what I can get, no complaints.  The vacation was nice, and restful, and I was ready to face you head on when I returned home.  I wasn't, however, ready for all the fun you had planned for me.

I'd only been en route from Columbia to LA for 8ish hours when I finally reached my car and was prepared to drive it home and crash in my somewhat uncomfortable but at least fully reclined bed, but I found you left me a surprise - every electrical device in my car was dead.  No lights, no electric locks, no pushing the alarm button, no turning over of the ignition.  At first this didn't seem like a huge problem, since it was my (WRONG) assumption that I knew at least one human being in this town with jumper cables.  In fact, I do not.

Adding on to that fact, I also did not have roadside assistance coverage through Honda, through my insurance, or through AAA, which I had cancelled because $50 a month is not something I can be throwing around all willy nilly.  45 minutes later, I'm finally attempting to dial a towing service in hopes they can come jump my car, and right in front of me pulls up a man in a car, who GETS OUT JUMPER CABLES, and attaches them to another car 10 feet away from me.  Life just threw me a bone!

With Archie's help (the retired gentleman who lived across the street, and was moving his car for street cleaning the next day), I was able to charge my car and get home.  I breathe a sigh of relief and get home to bed.  But you're not done, are you?  Of course not.

The next morning I wake up and send emails to the two companies I'd been waiting on to get back to me about legal temp work that they said they had coming up.  Within minutes, BOTH companies wrote back and said that they were either cancelled or severely cut back, and I wasn't going to be working anytime soon.  FAN FUCKING TASTIC.  I have $46 in cash, an empty gas tank, a $500 check to deposit, and two days off my meds to make me feel that much better.  I stop at the pharmacy, spend the $40 on my prescriptions, get $6 in gas so I can make it to the bank, and go deposit my check, which is promptly sent to Honda to pay for my car payment I missed 2 weeks ago.

I'm feeling shit on again, so something makes me stop at the corner store and use $3 in quarters to buy 3 scratch off lotto tickets.  In the magical moment I had there in that corner store, my first ticket gave me $20!  The rest did nothing, but I was happy I was $17 up.  Then I get home and find an email from a friend asking me to do a few hours of work for her company the next day since I'm painfully unemployed.  I agree and begin to think things are turning around.  HA.  HAAAAAHAHA.

The next day, I make it to the office and begin doing the postage work I've been hired to do, and then I go to load my car with my finished boxes to take back to the post office - and to pick up more customs forms.  In the process of loading my trunk, I thought it would be a good idea to set my keys down IN the trunk, and then shut it.  I stand in awe for a second at the marvel that is me getting shat on for the eleventy billionth time in 48 hours, and walk down the street to ask the guys at the auto body shop for some help.

It turns out I drive the safest car on the planet, because with all the lock popping tools in the world these guys cannot unlock my car.  It takes them 45 minutes and about 50 different strategies before they end up being able to pop my trunk, at which point I am so grateful/feel so bad that I give them the $20 bill I so gloriously won in the lottery the night before.  This feels especially obnoxious since I gave them $20 (well-earned, but still) for 45 minutes, while I'm making $15 an hour.

When I finally load the car with the boxes, I have the pleasure of driving to the post office that is less than 1 mile away during some sort of manhunt with cops and police helicopters shutting off lanes of traffic.  It only takes 20 minutes to go a mile.  I'm so flustered at this point that I take the boxes inside, get them shipped, and walk out WITHOUT more customs forms - which are required for me to finish my job and actually get paid.  Don't realize this til I get back, and once I do, I pretend I just want to take more boxes to the post office, turn right around, and get back in the 20 minute traffic jam because I'm a dumb piece of shit who can't remember to get a stack of forms when that is ONE OF TWO things I'm supposed to do on an errand.

I walk back in 40 minutes later and the boss asked me "Did you get shot?" referencing the shooter the police were chasing through the neighborhood.  No, I replied, but it might have been easier if I had.  In fact, I started thinking - had I gotten shot somewhere like the arm, I'd have a few days in the hospital, it wouldn't be a part of my body that would be especially painful to have disfigured (unlike my face, torso, or legs), and I'd get fucking disability so I could actually pay for my life until school starts.  But of course, Life,  you wouldn't let me get shot.  That's too easy.

I'm actually scared to see what you'll come up with next.  I'm hesitant to leave my house, in case my car gets towed, catches fire, dies on the freeway.  I'd consider becoming an alcoholic or some sort of pill addict, but I'm too fucking poor.  I can't even buy a whole tank of gas, let alone drugs.

 So please.  I know I've had a streak of luck this year, but good lord, it was only a couple of things.  I don't need to be beaten down every single day to be grateful for it.  It's kind of funny now, but a couple more days of this might send me to the mental hospital, or jail - depending on how I handle it.  Let's just not push this too far, mmkay?  That'd be great.  Thanks.

Yours,
Assbucket