The Incredible Anxiety Brought On By An Unfortunate Car Noise

It's an interesting experience, owning a car. One moment all is right in the world. I'm driving along like any other day. Maybe even minding my own business, completely oblivious to the physics and engineering that allow me to do so, and then, from an invisible seam, existence offers up a noise.

It cannot be my noise, not a noise I am responsible for. Let me roll my window down and investigate, just to be sure.

The window is down and I'm carefully straining to listen for the source, but look, there is a much worse car than my own driving just next to me.

It must be their noise.

What an old pathetic car they have, probably has noises all the time.

I am relieved that I am not responsible for a noise. A noise like that is no fun. I can relax again. Let me turn the music back up. Let me become the person I was before the noise entered my life. I do, and that person is happy, even more so because he was so close to unhappiness, he brushed it.

My life is better than before.

I'm driving along, I'm almost home. What is that noise?

Oh. What are the chances? There is no denying it. I hear that noise and I know that I am linked to it. It is mine to process. Mine to acknowledge. Dammit. It IS my noise. It's time to get angry because I don't think, in my opinion, that I deserve a noise.

A stupid, money sucking, time draining, confusing noise. This is my transportation box. It takes me to my cubicle every day.

Courtesy of

Courtesy of

Frankly, I need it to be noiseless. Why is it not noiseless! I'm shouting now. It's sinking in. I have a noise.

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