6. On Cars

Or not so much on cars in general, “On My Car.”  Or, “On My 1999 Blue Ford Escort.”  The one that is just about ready for the graveyard, I think.  It’s served me well. I don’t drive it all that much–back and forth to work, in the summer to softball tournaments and games, occasionally to the store. It hasn’t even made it to a  hundred thousand miles yet, but it runs like it’s a lot older. The kind of miles I put on it all these years are the hardest kind of miles on a car.  A mile or two here, eight or nine miles there.  Hardly gives the poor thing a chance to warm up.

I hate the very thought of buying a new car.  And I vowed after I bought a new care ten years ago that I would never buy another “new” car.  That’s not what I mean.  I hate the thought of buying any car.  I don’t trust people who sell cars, I don’t trust myself to not get ripped off when I buy a car, and I don’t like spending money in such large sums.  Leaves me depressed for days.  And cars–a car is just something that takes you from one place to the next without your having to sweat or breathe heavy. 

If there were decent bike lanes or even if I could trust the rest of the idiots who drive cars all over the place, I’d bike to work most days and maybe find a way to eliminate my reliance on the car.  But there are no decent bike lanes from where I live to where I work, and experience biking that route has given me no reason to place my trust in idiots.

I could buy a house somewhere closer to where I work, a thought I entertain nearly every day driving home.  But remember what I said about big purchases leaving me depressed?

So, I will buy a car.  Or maybe, J. will buy us a car.  She actually seems energized by the wheeling and dealing and excitement of car buying.