(no subject)

and in my best behavior
I am really just like him.
look beneath the floorboards
for the secrets I have hid.

waiting.

I am waiting for them to call and tell me my car is ready to pick up.

I think my brain is going to explode.

the next stage...

...and now I've cleaned out my old car and taken the plates off and made sure I haven't left anything in it. No lost CDs under the seats, no papers in the glovebox, nothing. The big silver knob on the stereo (where the old one broke off) is still there. There are still cracks where the crappy bodyshop fixed it after the wreck, and the climate controls still look much newer than the rest of the dash since I replaced them after the breakin. There was a time I could have told you where every scratch on the body came from, but that was years ago, and now mostly I'm just glad when I come out to a parking lot and don't find anything new. (First scratch: sideswiped a trash can in Alewife station. Just about cried. Next scheduled service, they chuckled and buffed it out.)

So, yeah. It's like an old friend. I've travelled more than 135,000 miles in that car. Moved house multiple times, raced to catch planes, had long talks, listened to music, all kinds of stuff.

I suppose it's sort of dorky and American to say, "Man, I'll miss that car," but I will.