All day I was nearly hyperventilating about the car. I resolved to bring it in to the mechanic earlier than I had planned, then got internally upset that I can't get off of work for the next two weeks. But I checked the oil in my car and, once again, I am looking at the orange dipstick I have and it says that I am still mostly full. I even stuck it back in and checked for a second time. I laid the dipstick flat on the paper towel I was using and wrapped the towel around it to make absolutely sure that oil was stuck all up and down the dipstick. And it was. Goddammit, if somehow the engine is still out of oil after how meticulously I checked, maybe I shouldn't own a fucking car.
And then the damndest thing happened: My anxiety went away. I don't know if I proved anything, but I guess I proved something to myself. Or, at the very least, I did something about my anxiety. And I was able to believe what I saw, and therefore refused to think that my car is extremely low on oil. And so I was driving from the movies (Furiosa is a fantastic film!) to downtown Minneapolis to check up on our game-watching bar, and my heart has been beating normally ever since. Even through the two times that hard, echoing rattle came through the hood of my car.
It feels good to be free of anxiety. I hope it lasts.
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