the pit in my stomach and hole in my bank account

The thrill of having a new car is quickly wearing off, being replaced by dread for repairs and hazardous road conditions and possible death. Because that's what a car is. It's a chunk of metal that never ceases to drain your bank account and risk your life.

My little Turbo started running rough today and probably needs a tune-up. Maybe brakes. But that's part of car ownership. It's part of being a person in the world. I'm adapting. But it's hard. Especially when my car makes funny sounds.

[Note: I'm really trying to fight this worry and dread. I'm letting it out now, though. In 10 minutes, I'll go back to being positive.]

And now onto the pretty pictures of my shiny car. Because at least it looks good! And I am still happy about it when I took them, so maybe this will help my morale.

Ta da! My '97 Saab 900 Turbo. 121,000 miles. Could be worse. At least this time around I'm older than my car.

I like the Saab snake guy with with crown. Not all the wheels have these.

Turbo is a hatchback, so he fits a lot of stuff. I haven't tested the capacity yet, but my August move back to Provo will give him a good shot to prove himself.

SP taken out of my sunroof. The sunroof might be my favorite feature.

Looking down from my sunroof. The ignition is down in between the two seats. The heated, slightly torn, leather seats.

Finalizing the sale was a bit of a fiasco. The first time I went with all my cash to pick up the car, the "ill" seller signed the title on the wrong line. Two days later, he resolved the title issue and we made the sale. In his semi-lucid state, he forgot to give me the key to the gas cap, so I got to the gas station with an empty tank and couldn't get it open. I stood at the pump for 10 minutes reading the owners manual and testing my ignition key and calling the seller. I went home on an empty tank and arranged to meet the seller at the gas station the next day.

That is the last time I saw him and hope to keep it that way. He told us at least 20 times that "man, I am sick as a dog." But he never sneezed or coughed. The first time we met, he was drinking a clear liquid from a glass that smelled a little too strong to be water. He was a character.

The good news is that I am mobile again. I am going to stick with the free bus pass that work gives me to avoid gas costs, but I can run errands freely in the evenings and I can drive myself out to school. In Provo, I'll will no longer be a nuisance on all my friends and acquaintances who own cars. I can be the one to give rides! I can drive to Michelle's house whenever I want to!

Car ownership is (overall) good. Adulthood is good. Now all I have to do is repeat this mantra to myself for the rest of my life and I'll be okay. As long as I always have Diet Pepsi in the fridge, that is.