A series of unfortunate events.

Another saga has come to a close--I hope.

About a month ago I crashed my car. Yep, who thought cement barriers would ever be a serious temptation? Somehow I found one I couldn't resist.

I was cruising down the highway at speeds slightly over the legal limit when I found my lane suddenly ending. I hit the brakes in order to merge behind a car in the lane to the right of me. The second I did I knew I was a goner. The moments that followed I remember only in flashes of pictures and distinct thoughts: a lot of construction barrels on my left, the sound of one hitting my car, the full expectation that another car was going to hit me anytime, and...I'm not sure how I got there but the next thing I processed was a wall of concrete lit up by my headlights on the right side of the highway. I thought "I've always wondered what this would feel like. This could hurt a lot." I braced myself for impact, shut my eyes, and found myself in a haze coughing in smoke from the airbags.

It was over. I took quick inventory for pain, found nothing but a bruised knee, and looked with mixed relief and resigned frustration at my damaged car. Situations like that kind of make you forget you have a vocabulary because the only things I could articulate to myself were "wow" and "oh man." Someone had stopped behind me and called the cops, which was good, because I found myself alternating between staring at the cars driving past and staring at the phone in my hand, not quite sure what to do. They towed my car and I got a ride home with someone else.

I skipped work the next day, found out my car would be totalled--though how he knew that without knowing how much my car was worth or how much damage had occurred I'm not sure--and spent the rest of the day looking for new cars. Long story short, people alternated taking me to work and picking me up and being nice enough to visit me in my unavoidable house arrest, and I decided to buy a car from the church. A 2004 Mazda3. This is the part where everyone tells me they'd never buy a missionary car so let's just assume you feel the same way and spare me from hearing it again. I found a place to take out a loan, I transferred money to my bank account...and then waited...I went home for Christmas...waited some more...and came home from break. I played phone tag with my insurance company--I still hadn't found out how much I was getting for my car. I called the credit union--the lady who was processing my loan was out sick. I called church fleet repeatedly in the hopes that they wouldn't give up on me and sell the car to someone else...and people continued to take me to work. Come to find out, the credit union was waiting for me to send some items that I had already sent but they apparently never got. We had been locked in a secret stalemate. One day later, I paid for my car.

Don't be deceived into thinking this is the end...because it's not. Plow on, my friends, plow on. I mentioned some concerns I had with the way the car started, uncertain whether it was even plausible for me to expect them to do anything about it, and I gave the car back so they could check it out. By this time, I had a car I could borrow and my friends started answering my phone calls again. I got the car back for the weekend with the instructions to bring it back Monday so they could take it to someone else who could ascertain for certain what was going on. During this time I discovered the cigarette lighter didn't work--seemingly unimportant? Wrong. I gave up my car again and quickly mentioned the cigarette lighter hoping they would be kind enough to fix it and still not hate me. Four days and an over $200 mechanical problem later (one which I gratefully didn't have to pay for), I got my car. For good.

I can finally start going to church again.