Because my car WOULD die at one in the morning in the desert.

If you want to know just how strong my Irish determinism and stubbornness actually runs, let it be known that the moment the car stalled I turned into Mega Bitch, who promptly said “let’s fucking make this work, I have to wake up for class at 5.”

I got a jump from some people in the parking lot. I drove less than a mile down the road when my gas light went on. Because I was out of gas. Because I decided I would get gas after the event. So Lindsay found me at a gas station, without any jumper cables. We drove to Walmart. She locked her keys in HER car.

We get cables. We make our way back to my car.

"This is good," I said to no one, though my voice indicated it was anything but good. "This is good. This is not so bad."

My car won't jump. It started to be so bad.

Suddenly, I realized I was 30 miles from my destination and that I am a weak person, both mentally and physically, and so we stopped trying and I don’t know what else to tell you guys, except that I’m really glad I surround myself with people who know me so well that they knew I had to come to my own realization that we could not jump start a vehicle that is dead.

Like, to stay silent in that moment and just let me “work through it” like I’m some sort of retarded Border Collie trying to herd cotton balls instead of sheep is exactly how you need to deal with me, because if anyone had told me I could not get my car working, I would’ve punched them in the face and then pushed that car until my entire body was bleeding from every pore.