Luck in Threes

People say everything comes in threes.

Why me? Why this? Why now?

My car. My headphones. My computer. All three in the hospital--car-hospital, headphone-hospital, computer-hospital--within the same three weeks. The references of my life taken away from me just like that. All I need now is to lose my keys, and my mind melts down into a little ball that rocks back and forth under my desk until someone accidentally steps on me.

Is this some self-conscious attempt to tell myself to slow down? Or is it overdue skewed Karma--Saturn in my birth sign and all of that? Who cares what it is? I just want it over, and these pieces of my routine--my intimate friends--back with me where they belong.

Bad luck. Bad planning. Bad person.
Mea culpa. Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.
Through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault.

Threes. Threes. Threes.

"There I said it. There I said it. There I said it three times."

"Do you consider yourself a lucky person?" Leary said.

"Well, yeah, usually I do. This week with much irony," I admitted,
rallying, hoping for a prediction of three great things to follow.

"So why think that all of your luck would be good? Luck is just a point of view anyway."

Somehow hearing that was just what I needed to quit feeling sorry for myself.

I hate feeling sorry for myself more than I hate being without my headphones.

—me strauss Letting me be