I can't have nice things

Back in the late 1990's, I bought a model car for myself.  It's about 6 inches long.  It's a blue 1996 BMW Z3 M Roadster.  The doors open, the steering wheel turns the wheels, the hood lifts to reveal the engine,  It's beautiful.  It has always made me happy to look at it.  It has sat on my desk for over 15 years.

For some reason last week, when I was desperate to find some reason to not do myself in, I thought about that little car.  There has always been a debate between me and my son as to whether it is a Z3 or an M style roadster.  As a distraction, I did a little research.  We were both right.  What's more, there were a few on Craigslist.  And then, I found it.  It was a 2000, not a 1996, but it was BLUE.

I avoided thinking about it for several days.  It was a ridiculous idea.  We are poor. We would become the stereotypical low income family living in a dump with a nice car in the yard.  I knew considering it is classic manic thinking. Even if I could find the money for the car, we need it to pay off debts and run a new sewer line.  Besides, I would probably kill myself in it.  Although, I had wanted to do that anyway, for a while I would have some fun. The debate went on for a few more days.

Finally, I decided to look at the obstacles.  Purchasing the little blue roadster would require borrowing at least half of the amount from the bank.  If they deny my request, decision made.  They didn't deny it.  They took my application and will get back to me in a day or two.  Maybe the car is no longer available.  I sent an email.  I got no response.  My son called.  The car is still available.  We made an offer contingent upon the loan.  They accepted it. I was happy.

Now, I have to tell you that my son has been involved in this search and debate process from the beginning.  He knows our financial situation and he also knows where I have been emotionally for the past several weeks.  He also knows about manic thinking.  But he saw this car as something that might help me, might bring me a little joy.  He remembers that this car has been sitting on my desk for 15 years.

Then all hell broke loose.  My daughter, the voice of reason, expressed herself with all the strength and vehemence imaginable.  I won't go into details but a huge fight ensued.  After my daughter went to her room, after we all took a breather, and the house got quiet, I broke down.  It was the first time I have cried for myself in years, full of gasps, gulps, and hiccups.  My son held me through the worst of it.  I cried several more times before I finally went to bed.

I know it was a classically stupid idea, but now I am afraid again.  I have nothing to look forward to.  I know my life is not as bad as a majority of the world's population, but for some reason I need for my life to make sense, and nothing so far has made sense.  Buying that blue 2000 Z3 M Roadster would have made sense of my holding on to that little model car for so long, for buying it in the first place.  I'm that desperate.

Lord, help me make it through this day.  I have to say no to myself.  I have to cancel the bank loan and tell the owner I am no longer interested.  And here come the tears...