Reluctance.

Last week I posted about a problem I was having with my old-as-dirt work truck and how I had tried and failed miserably to fix it myself.

So I took it back to Mr. Mechanic and he figured out a way we could add a simple toggle switch to the dashboard and turn the wipers on and off that way.

Not perfect but workable and I scheduled to drop it off the next day.

Well.

Big Black must of been offended or pissed off or something because by the time I got home that evening the radiator was leaking and the next morning when I went out and started her up and pulled the emergency brake the cable snapped and the handle came off in my hand.

So.

I’m sitting there in my stuck and leaking truck twirling the snapped emergency brake handle, watching the broken undying wipers dry scrape across the windshield and wondering what the hell else could go wrong, knowing I should just sell the damn thing and move on.

It’s time.

But while I know it and while I sat there, nurturing my fuming anger knowing in my heart of hearts it was the thing to do- just get rid of the bitch- reluctance was nestling up right close to me, holding my hand and saying no baby, hold on.

Big Black has been my ride for a long time.

The seat fits my butt. The gear shift and steering wheel are all well worn out by me. She’s as familiar as an old friend and while I know she’s just a bunch of metal, of nuts and bolts and wiring and shit I don’t understand and while I know she’s just a stupid truck I found myself-

Sitting there waiting for the tow truck listening to Cutter and Tug barking at me from inside the house and realizing just how fucked I am.

I’m gonna be driving this thing for the rest of my life.

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