A break down, a break up, a wreck — all in a week. Add on another few days, a totaled car. Does it really have to pour when it rains?

The misery began as I drove home last week and my clutch shut down — except for second gear. The good news, I was near home. The bad news, at 30 mph (max), drivers hated me. I made it home and didn't worry too much — My boyfriend could tow me with his truck and his brother-in-law was my mechanic!

A couple of days later I asked my boyfriend to pick me up early from church after a rough service (a story in itself). He knew the details and soon I was in his truck, trying to stifle my tears. The best I could do was not talk — but that looked like the silent treatment, so I choked out an explanation and he comforted me.

I felt better, but sensed something wasn't right. And then I just knew — as only the future breakee can know — he was ready to break up.

It was all intuition, so I turned and asked, “What’s wrong? What’s going on?” He evaded the answer.

I pressed further, he evaded again.

We were now in his house. I turned and asked him directly, “You don’t want to be with me, do you?”

He said, “No, I don’t.”

I sat down stunned. He started explaining, and I kept crying, when suddenly, I felt ill. I rode it off as emotions but the pain grew. It began to dawn on me that this wasn't just emotional, this was physical...

And then I threw up.

I made it to the bathroom, but still, it was definitely vomit and definitely humiliating. I cleaned myself up, said a quick goodbye and walked home.

The following week is a blur of tears, movies and nausea but come Friday, I felt a lot better. I had found a cheap mechanic (gotta love the East side) and my clutch had magically decided to work (I do not understand cars). I asked a friend to follow me to the mechanic and he agreed.

Our drive was fine, until I heard sirens. I searched for its source and saw a fire engine at the intersection I was approaching. The truck blared its horn repeatedly and looked like it was entering the intersection. If it did, I would be smashed, so I slammed on my breaks, and my friend slammed into me.

The fire engine pulled over and the men ran to see if we were OK. I was too shocked to do more than answer all the questions — no ambulance, no cop (aka no ticket for friend), yes, I’m fine. Thankfully, my friend was fine too and while it could have been worse, my car’s back end was smashed. My friend felt horrible, I was of course crying, so I sent him home as soon as we traded info. I slowly began my last trip in what would be declared, a "totaled vehicle." Driving in the rain — my trunk bent open, my bumper scraping and one emergency light blinking — I felt completely pathetic.

I didn't think it could get any worse — which as a rule, you should never think — and then I heard something dragging from my car. I quickly pulled onto a residential street and got out to find my bumper hanging by a thread. Standing in the rain and mud, I didn't know what to do. I fell to my knees, looked up to heaven and screamed, "Why God, Why!?"

And then He explained it all and I went home.

No, not really, but instead, a very kind Hispanic man saw me staring at the car and helped me detach my bumper and fit it into my back seat. It was a much-needed glimmer in a very dreary week.