Much of the time since I moved to Universe City, it hasn't really mattered that I don't have a car. It doesn't change things that much. I mostly get to the places I need to be, by bike or by foot or by bus. People offer me rides all the time.
Every occasionally, though, like tonight, when I've dropped $100 (am a big spender, very big) at a church yard sale on an assortment of odds and ends like tiny footstool, orange velvet curtain, orange outdoor blanket, antique photo of lake and mountain in landscape frame, dresser, four-drawer old wooden library card catalog, approximately 8 nice wooden hangers, I really wish I had a car. Or a truck.
Because if I had one of those, I would not have been trudging down the street just to get to my bike to ride home, lugging more than I can carry, with still more left behind, and planning to get up earlier than I want to so that I can go back to the church and lug even more stuff home.
Because if I had one of those, there would be milk in my fridge, because I would have been able to stop on the way home and get milk, instead of realizing that I would have to park my bike, lock the bike, take all of the stuff off of it that I cannot very well carry, take off the seat and put it in the bag I keep for that purpose, drag everything into the store, pick up the milk, drag everything back out of the store, and try to figure out a way to fit the milk into the crate which is already full of stool, purse, curtain, and blanket.
Because if I had one of those, I would not dread the weather forecast. I would not dread the cold mornings when my ears want to fall off as the wind passes them. I would not dread the dark, because I would not be quite so trapped in my apartment.
The thing is, I feel guilty for wanting a car. I feel like I should be able to manage without one. Not every person on the planet can have a car if we want to keep this planet functional, and I don't really see why I should be one of the people who have a car, and yet I want one so badly some days, and I am trying to put it off, to wait for the right car and the right time, but I know I'm going to end up buying one, probably very soon.
Every occasionally, though, like tonight, when I've dropped $100 (am a big spender, very big) at a church yard sale on an assortment of odds and ends like tiny footstool, orange velvet curtain, orange outdoor blanket, antique photo of lake and mountain in landscape frame, dresser, four-drawer old wooden library card catalog, approximately 8 nice wooden hangers, I really wish I had a car. Or a truck.
Because if I had one of those, I would not have been trudging down the street just to get to my bike to ride home, lugging more than I can carry, with still more left behind, and planning to get up earlier than I want to so that I can go back to the church and lug even more stuff home.
Because if I had one of those, there would be milk in my fridge, because I would have been able to stop on the way home and get milk, instead of realizing that I would have to park my bike, lock the bike, take all of the stuff off of it that I cannot very well carry, take off the seat and put it in the bag I keep for that purpose, drag everything into the store, pick up the milk, drag everything back out of the store, and try to figure out a way to fit the milk into the crate which is already full of stool, purse, curtain, and blanket.
Because if I had one of those, I would not dread the weather forecast. I would not dread the cold mornings when my ears want to fall off as the wind passes them. I would not dread the dark, because I would not be quite so trapped in my apartment.
The thing is, I feel guilty for wanting a car. I feel like I should be able to manage without one. Not every person on the planet can have a car if we want to keep this planet functional, and I don't really see why I should be one of the people who have a car, and yet I want one so badly some days, and I am trying to put it off, to wait for the right car and the right time, but I know I'm going to end up buying one, probably very soon.
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