There’s an ancient proverb whispered among the weary and battle-scarred: Bad things come in threes. Not two, because that would be manageable. Not four, because the universe isn’t that cruel. Three. The holy trinity of “are you kidding me right now?” So apparently the universe has a sense of humor, and its favorite punchline is me. You know how they say bad things come in threes? Well, I’m here to confirm that this is 100% true and also 100% annoying. It’s like the universe is collecting Infinity Stones, except instead of wiping out half of existence, it’s just really committed to ruining my week specifically. Sometimes you have to laugh at this shit! Let me paint you a picture of my recent pilgrimage through the Valley of the Shadow of Everything Going Spectacularly Wrong.

Act I: The Emergency Room Adventure

First up: an unexpected trip to the ER. Because nothing says “fun Monday Morning” like fluorescent lighting, questionable waiting room snacks, and wondering if this is how I finally discover I’m mortal. The emergency room is a special kind of purgatory. The ER is where you go to feel both extremely important (medical emergency!) and completely insignificant (you’re number 47 in line, please take a seat). It’s a humbling experience, really. One minute you’re living your life, the next you’re in a hospital gown questioning all your choices. But hey, at least I took action, right? Could’ve just ignored the problem and hoped it would go away like a responsible adult. Instead, I actually went and got help. Knowing that my heart is super healthy and knowing that I’m not gonna have a stroke at age 39, and the real Grim Reaper wasn’t going to pay me a visit anytime soon is very comforting! Gold star for me!

Act II: My Car Decides to Become a Drama Queen

Fresh out of the ER and feeling like I’d already paid my dues to the chaos gods, my car decided it wanted some attention too. The temperature gauge started climbing. And climbing. And climbing some more, like it was training for Everest. So there I was, 15 miles from home, watching my car slowly transform into a very expensive tea kettle. Did it completely die? No. Did it threaten to die with every mile? Abso-fuckin’-lutely. I had two choices: pull over and wait for a tow truck (expensive, time-consuming, admitting defeat), or baby this temperamental machine home at the speed of a nervous turtle.

I chose option two.

Picture this: me, driving 30 mph on roads where everyone else is doing 60, hazards on, having a full conversation with my dashboard like we’re in couples therapy. “Come on, buddy. Just 15 more miles. You can do this. We can do this. Please don’t explode.” Every red light was a blessing. Every downhill a gift from the gods. I pulled over twice to let it cool down, standing on the side of the road like a worried parent taking their sick kid’s temperature. Other drivers zoomed past, probably wondering why this person was treating their afternoon commute home like a slow-motion car chase. But we made it home. Barely. The car limped into the driveway like a marathon runner crossing the finish line, and I’m pretty sure I heard it sigh with relief before the engine finally gave up.

Act III: The Family Drama Finale

At this point, I thought, “Well, at least it can’t get worse!”

Que the Max Payne Voice: It got worse.

Cue the argument with my father. Not just any argument—THE argument. The kind that makes you realize the camel didn’t just have a broken back; it had a complete existential crisis and is now in therapy. When you’re already running on fumes emotionally, physically, and financially, even a minor disagreement feels like the apocalypse. What would normally be a “let’s agree to disagree” situation becomes a full-blown “what the fuck man?!” rage that would have led me to start drinking and smoking again but I didn’t I decided to let my rage do the talking in a text message to him. That camel? It was done. It’s filing for disability and it’s moving to Florida to retire early.

Act IV: The Part Where I Pretend to Have Wisdom

Look, here’s what I figured out while drowning in my trilogy of inconvenience and frustration:

Just do the thing. Even when it sucks. Especially when it sucks. Go to the ER. Call the tow truck. Have the hard conversation. Yes, it’s uncomfortable. Yes, it costs money/energy/sanity you don’t have. But ignoring problems doesn’t make them disappear—it just makes them more expensive later and a potential reoccurring visit to the emergency room.

Let people help you. The doctors, the tow truck guy, the friend who listened to me rant—these people were lifesavers to my sanity. And accepting help isn’t weakness, it’s just… smart? Why would I try to push my dead car home when there are literal professionals with trucks designed for this? Sometimes you have to suck it up and accept the fact you need help and even though you are fully capable individual that can do things on your own in your day to day life, there are some skills and abilities you don’t have and reach out to those that do.

Trust that future you will be okay. Not in a cheesy and attention seeking “thoughts and prayers” way, but in a “I’ve survived 100% of my bad days so far” way. You keep showing up, you keep dealing with things, and eventually, you’re on the other side of it looking back like “huh, survived that one too.”

Act V: Closing Conclusion

The ER thing got resolved. I’m alive, medicated, and only mildly traumatized by the bill when it comes in the mail.

The car got fixed, new radiator. My bank account is crying, but the car is no longer staging a rebellion, so that’s progress.

The argument with my father… I had to set some boundaries and have not spoken to him since until he works on himself and stop projecting all of his mistakes onto me because he has no control over his own life . These things don’t resolve themselves in a 30-minute sitcom episode, turns out. Who knew?

Here’s the thing about the Rule of Three: yes, bad things cluster together like they’re carpooling to ruin your life. But then they end. The pattern completes, the cycle finishes, and you get to go back to your regularly scheduled programming of normal, boring problems and have productive solutions to these situations.

Everything will be fine in the end. Not perfect (when perfection does not exist). Not like nothing happened. But fine. You’ll be okay because you took action instead of hoping problems would solve themselves, you accepted help from people who knew what they were doing, and you kept going even when it felt ridiculous.

I also like to think hard times is life just testing your ability not to crumble so easily. Just when it comes, face it head on. You may come out with a few bruises but your still breathing. They will heal.

Also, I’m knocking on all the wood right now because if there’s a Rule of Four, I’m not interested!