My Failed Creative Writing Attempt

For those who know me, I am a teacher and at times like to think of myself as a Visual Artist. We have my paintings up on our walls and when I have time in the summer, a long weekend or holiday I get the paints out and set off to work. In between the times of my artistic endeavors I forget how much work and planning goes into it all and how rewarding putting part of yourself onto a canvas can be.
My strong point is drawing and I often try to incorporate drawing into my collages and paintings. The last time I had the paints and pencils out was in February or March. I can't properly remember.
Anyways... I've always wondered if I could write -you know like creative writing. I've never taken a class but I've always wondered. So I'm on this English Teacher's website and my little experiment is such that I'm going to write something and post it, and we'll go from there. This could be hilarious.

Okay . Like how would a high school kid do this? It's hard! There is a list of writing prompts on this website and I've chosen this one:
PROMPT - Write a story sparked by "a convoy of urgency"

A frantic stream of thoughts flew though Jeff's head as he put the keys into the ignition. With each passing second ,doubts and worries poked and pinched his conscience. He'd wondered if he'd done the right thing, trusting his 'temporary' girlfriend with the money. The car tried to turn over but instead emitted a whine and promptly died. He'd meant to change the oil last week but in his current state of borderline poverty he couldn't muster the fifty dollars that he would've needed. At times like this he hated the fact he was patently not a handy guy.

In high school his parents had the stolid belief he would go to University, even though he took and skipped classes like mechanics and welding. They'd so believed in Jeff that they sacrificed and saved for him to go. What they hadn't counted on was his choice of lifestyle. His love of large quantities of rum, the occasional recreational drug use and eventually gambling had led him to a place that he was finding increasingly difficult to escape.
His cell phone was ringing again, but it stayed in his pocket. Each ring, a digitzed wagon in a passing convoy of urgency, widened the pit in his stomach.

Hahahaha. Well that's rich.

I've edited that fucker all afternoon and that is the absolute best I can come up with? I mean I really put all my talents out there. Nice try Tam. Stick to bowling maybe. I'm leaving the writing for the likes of those who actually have a command of the language.

I'm no Vonnegut that's for certain. At times like this I hate the fact I am patently not a writer.
Maybe I'll try again at some other time.