In case you didn’t catch the mood from the headline, the news wasn’t good.

I went on and looked up my car—a 2002 Mercedes-Benz C32 AMG—and was told that it’s worth around $5,400. Don’t ask me why I did this.

And now I am really quite sad. I knew those things depreciated like mad, but still, I wasn’t ready for the shock and subsequent crushing despair that followed.

Do you know what that means? That means the cost of parking her in the city for two years already costs more than she does. Fuck.

That’s like paying more in rent than you’re worth, whatever that number might be.

I guess it’s okay, because my car makes me happy, and you can’t put a price on happiness.

Why did I have to look? Why do I always have to look?