Generally, I like living alone. The lack of a roommate, significant other, or goldfish allows me room to spread out. Also, I like being in charge, and it’s really easy to maintain order when only one person needs to fall in line. You can call me bossy, but I call myself resolute.
And, until I find someone that I’d like to share my space with, this is how things are going to be. And, for the most part, this all works out just fine. Except when things like this happen:
Yes, the car is still drivable. But, after getting it home last night without a sideview mirror, do I really want to be going about my business in it full-time? Not really. And my imaginary roommate doesn’t drive. Or, at least, she/he’s not supposed to. So, I’m getting started on the rental car pronto, before I take this into the body shop*.
Back in my slightly younger days — you know, my early and mid-twenties — stuff like this bothered me less.
Hang on, let me clarify. I don’t really care that someone backed into my parked car. Accidents happen, that’s what insurance is for, and once everything gets moving, it all work out just fine. The actual crumply car isn’t an issue for me at all**.
What I care about is the feeling of strandedness that sometimes comes when an incident arises and the household accident/car accident/minor illness/possibly broken extremity/indoor flooding becomes a challenge of the individual will. I mean, I always figure it out somehow, even if I have to scream all the way to the EmeriCare Center just to have someone look at my foot. And I’m usually proud of myself for handling things will a certain amount of grace^.
But sometimes, seriously. Sometimes I think I need a minder.
Don’t get me wrong; I have great friends who are more than willing to pitch in when I need them. And a lot of me rushing around on my own solving problems comes from my hesitancy to be what I consider “a burden.” Though I should probably knock it off about that now, because I don’t really have a choice in the matter***.
But rather than bellyache about how much it stinks to sometimes have to do for myself, what I really hope for myself is that I don’t forget these times later on, when it’s not just me. Because things won’t always be this way. And what I’m more afraid of than anything else is easily forgetting what it’s like to be elbow-deep in sludge and realizing the solo fun is just about to begin.
* They can’t see me until Thursday, and even that was a huge squeeze on their part. I must be charming/sympathetic over the phone.
** I mean it is, but ever since my first (and only) car accident a few years ago, I’ve taken the words of the owner of Ed’s Auto Body to heart. I was all upset and he reminded me that cars are fixable. It’s inconvenient when things are that way, but better than some of the alternatives. And so, while I’d prefer not to have to have my car fixed in the first place, the fact that no one was hurt, that the accident involved very low speeds, and was simply a matter of bad luck is more or less fine with me when I consider what other hands I could have been dealt in the car accident game.
^ Feel free to laugh long and hard about that whole “grace” thing and the broadness of my interpretation.
*** Also, I sort of have a few ways to incentivize helping me out now, and it’s a little bit more than, “And now, while you bring me to my rental car, allow me to sing the thank-you song I wrote you.”