I despise cars. Well, I should rephrase that, because it’s not the car I hate, it’s having to own one.

I despise having to own a car. It’s a money pit.

3 weeks or so ago, my car’s door handle broke. I have to roll down the window and open it from the outside.

2 weeks ago, it flat-out wouldn’t start.

Today, it starts, but makes weird noises, like it’s going to shut off.

To a normal person, these things may seem innocuous. And I fully admit that they are probably my own fault, caused by neglect. But it’s hard to call around looking for a door handle for an old ass Camry when talking to strangers on the phone, even under ideal circumstances, terrifies you. It’s difficult to take it to a mechanic, knowing beforehand that you are by far inadequate to handle such a situation, on top of the social anxiety. It’s almost impossible to waltz into a dealership and buy a new one.

I know you’ll read this and think I’m being ridiculous, or insane. You’d be right on both counts. It doesn’t remove the fear. It’s there, ridiculous or not, every day of my life, in every single situation, and it cripples me. This is why I neglect my car. Maintaining a car when you have absolutely no knowledge or ability to maintain it yourself requires frequent social interaction, and I avoid that at any cost.

Last night I saw Lady in the Water. It was a really terrible movie, but there was one scene that got me. Apparently, Paul Giamatti’s character’s family was killed by a burglar or something, and this crackhead sea nymph went poking through his stuff and read about it in his journal. She goes on a little rant about him feeling like he has no purpose or hope. It wasn’t especially inspired or insightful, but she may as well have been talking to me. Things like this, this bullshit with my car and my utter inability to cope with it, happen every day in varying degrees. The other night I was at Red Star with Matt, and he wanted to get a game of telephone going with the people at the bar, but I was too afraid to do it. I sat alone the rest of the night. I’m being charged $50 a month for a service I stopped using months ago, just because they require you to call them to cancel, and the thought fills me with dread. I stand at the front door for a few minutes each morning, peaking through the blinds, waiting for all the neighbors to leave or go back in their houses before I leave for work.

I fail at being a person. I fail at life, at living it. This is why I don’t think I’m a good person, because I’m not good at being a person, much like Kevin Federline is not good at being a rapper. I just can’t do it, and I have no reason to try to change. I’ll just keep floating through life, relying on luck and patience… until some tragedy befalls me, and I don’t get back up from it.