Cursed Cursive

I bought a car, several years ago, that I absolutely loved.  A 2001 Ford Focus – a simple car – white, cloth interior, clean, economical.  From the time I was old enough to drive, I’d wanted a car just like it, and I finally had one of my own.

From the very beginning, the car gave me trouble.  The front end started vibrating only about three days after I received the title.  Not long after that, it began leaking oil.  And after about six months, the transmission completely blew.  Within a year’s time, the car had spent many, many hours (and many, many dollars) with a mechanic.

That didn’t change my love for the car at all.  I put a lot of effort into making it work, but in the end, the cons outweighed the pros.  With a child on the way, I had to let the car go, so that I could find something a lot more dependable.

Sometimes, we put a lot of effort into things that are simply not going to work – be it cars, careers, friendships or relationships.  The Ford Focus has become the subject of a metaphor throughout the course of my life.  And even though it has pained me, just as I had to let the car go, I have had to walk away from a lot of things and people, as much as I loved them, because they were not good for me.

I’m Meg.  I’m currently 29 years old.  I have been married three times, and divorced twice.  I have two beautiful children, the center of my universe, and the best two decisions I’ve ever made.  I am the wife of a nurse who makes me laugh, despite my inner struggle to love myself.  Together, we have a dog, Zeek the Labrador.

I am, for lack of a better term, the Black Sheep, in most of my relationships, and while I’ve never been “okay” with that, I am at a point where I’ve learned to survive it.

I am scarred, but ordinary.  I am sad, but I smile.  I cry, but I keep going.  I am flawed, but gentle.  And all of the “cars” I own now, are completely dependable.

Enjoy what you read.

 

Cursed Cursive

 

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