It had been sitting in my parking space at my condo since it died, over a year ago. I tried researching how to donate a vehicle to charity, but it all seemed terribly complicated -- I'm deeply phobic about incorrectly filed paperwork, and the one place I found that said they took care of all the paperwork never called me back.
I was going to drive the truck down to Olympia to give it to my sister, hoping that I could avoid having to go in reverse at any point the whole way down, but it turns out that if you let a truck just sit there for a year, it won't start the next time you try to use it. Who knew?
The management of my condo had been gently asking me all this time when I was going to get rid of it, and when I was going to stop parking my car in visitor spaces. Not too long after I failed to get the truck moving again, they finally put a note on my car saying they'd tow it if I parked it in a visitor space again. Fair enough, I figured.
In the end, I went to Pull-A-Part, a wrecking yard in Lynnwood, and found out they would indeed tow it away for free and take it off my hands for spare parts if I signed the title over to them. I wouldn't even need to be there for them to pick it up. So that's what I did, and one night I came home and it was just gone.
Why a whole year?
Part of it's just the inertia and procrastination that plagues so many parts of my life. But it was also just frankly hard to do.
My dad told me, after he bought me the truck, not to fall in love with it. He told me too late. It was my first car, something that brought me my first real taste of freedom and independence and responsibility. I didn't get rid of it for so long because I didn't really want to.
. . . . Why is it so hard for me to let go of things when it's so easy for me to let go of people?