Car buying happened, and I’m now the possessor of a 1997 (we prefer the term ‘vintage’ to ‘beater’) Subaru Legacy, which is awesome!
It’s a station wagon, so hauling crap is less of a thing than my sports car hatchback was! AWD? That’s a thing adults love, right? It’s white and boxy, I’m pale and foxy. We were pretty much born to be together. And: the price was right, homies. $2500 for a working, well-maintained, low-ish mileage vehicle. Bam.
It’s a manual transmission, and I haven’t touched a clutch in thirteen years. And I wasn’t great at it, back then either.
So I’m about … oh five minutes? From leaving the office right now, to drive to Philadelphia, during rush hour, in my manual, on stick shift: Day two.
Those are not hives, I’m just … warm and itchy.
I have been instructed to cultivate an obstinate indifference toward the aggravation of other drivers, and maybe not be so heavy on the gas pedal when I’m shifting into first.
I refuse to die or give up. I am too pretty to die, and too tenacious to give up. Bam. Gonna do it.