Two weeks ago, the house failed me one (hopefully) last time, incurring a $1500 repair when under contract. I can't even feel that particular pain anymore. I've had a bouquet of dicks shoved up my ass for a year, now, and one more isn't really going to move the needle on my discomfort. Then the accident happened. Then the same day I shipped my backup credit card and other essentials to my destination, my remaining credit card was compromised. "Why would you steal someone’s credit card number just to go to Jack in the Box in California?" I wondered while I reflexively bent over.
But then something weird happened. Good luck appeared. I was wary. I didn’t recognize it at first. If this guy is good luck, I'm his dog.
I was miraculously able to transfer enough cash to pay my movers and for lodging for the next month. The movers showed up five minutes early instead of two days after never. The southern Baptist millennial realtor’s insurance company wrote me a $4000 check with a smile. My damaged turn signal was just a loose connection, putting me back on track for my long drive. These things might not seem significant to you normals, but this is the sort of luck I haven’t seen in a year. The wanted kind. Let's hope it parlays into someone else pulling in front of my car so that I can double-dip on collecting.