Glad I took my prozac

Today started off great. We have five cars, one for each adult in our house, although one of them doesn't know how to drive yet. This morning, the employed adult child drove off to her job with no problem. So there's one functioning car. Husband was already leaving late to work, when he suddenly burst through the front door, saying his car wouldn't start. He went back outside to root through the Tetris formation of parked vehicles for the jumper cables. Couldn't find them, so I posit they must be in the oldest child's car (whether she would know what to do with them or not... hmmm... another thing for me to worry about). In order to get the one other functioning car in the pile, he has to move Son's dead old Lexus. So, this mid-morning, he and I performed a circus act for our neighbors to enjoy, wherein we had to put Son's car in neutral and roll it back to give room for the only other functioning car, little Sis's Hyundai Elantra to be backed out of the driveway. I'm not mentally strong enough to describe the picture of our driveway accurately enough for anyone, but I could try. We have a 1995 gold tone Lexus, encrusted in old dirt and autumnal pollen, at the foot. Midway up, a bright orange Honda Element. If a car could be a Jack O'Lantern, that would be it. At the very top of the driveway, sits my old gal. My Sing Blue Silver Lexus SUV. Don't get too excited. She looks like every other Alpharetta mom car, but she ain't run since 2017.
Holy shit, why did I write all this? It's so embarrassing. I just want to move and forget we ever lived here like this.