I grab my lower lip between my teeth as I walk the five minutes back to my apartment from the parking garage. I look firmly at the floor as I trudge down the hallway. I collapse on the sofa and suddenly I'm a shuddering sobbing mess, wrapping my arms around myself, unable to stop the tears.
It's just a car that won't start. Who knows, things happen with rental cars. It's no big deal, sometimes the battery just runs low. It'll be okay. I know. I know. I know.
Except that for the past three days I've been having nightmares about car crashes that hugely amplify the actual crash. Except that this is a rental replacement because my car is in the body shop. Except that I have a police report and an insurance deductible that loom up as soon as I open my eyes from that nightmare. Except that it took me an hour to even screw myself up to the point where I could go out to the rental car at all.
And I have things to be thankful for: nobody was hurt, the damage is fixable, nobody was hurt. It was really not a huge thing after all. Accidents happen. I know I know I know I know I know.
But the rental car not starting today has just dipped this day in abysmal doom and I can't seem to pull myself together. The tears won't stop no matter how hard I hug myself. And all I want to do is to curl up in bed and hope the building collapses on top of me.