False Starts

The engine is turning.
I turn the fob and hold it in my hand, my ears bent listening to the sound.
The engine chugs, grates, and then sputters.
I go through this process again, and again, and again, bent over the steering wheel.
Lately everything has been false starts.
Everything breeds mounds of frustrations and waterfalls of tears.
I'm crouched on my porch, not wanting to succumb to collapsing on the stained mat. That would be a sign, I think, of my utter loss of perspective. I'm rooting through my purse for my keys among dozens of receipts and who knows what else. It shouldn't be this hard, I think. It shouldn't be this hard to find a large clanking item bejeweled with so many keychains.
I'm about to completely lose it when I finally find them in the bottom of my purse.
It's like when I lose a ski. I'm not so bad at skiing, but if I lose one, for some reason I just can't reattach it. Everyone looks pitifully on and tells me I've probably got a build up of snow in the hooks on my boot. I really wish they would just shut up. What do they know? I'm scraping my boot, but it still won't click.
This is a metaphor, I think. Losing all patience, so frustrated the outside world melts away.
I've met tons of nice guys lately. A few I definitely connected with on a deeper level. But it doesn't matter. Things aren't like they used to be. Things don't click. And even if they do, it's probably a tenuous connection, not real. Your ski will just fly out from under you at the most inopportune time.
I feel frustrated, really frustrated.
I have my life together, I think. I don't have it all figured out, but I certainly have enough. I certainly feel like I have more figured out than the people around me that seem so deliriously and disgustingly happy.
I start to think maybe that's the point. I don't have it figured out.
But that just doesn't seem fair, or right.
So I watch people slip away from me, rolling off the feathers on my back. My covering is repellent.
Sparks burst and die out, my connections are like matches, not candles. Explosive and bright, burning a while before they go out. I curse as the flame reaches my fingers and I drop the match in pain.
I put my head on the steering wheel and take a deep breath. I need it before I deal with the useless turning again.