I'm refusing to drive right now. I almost always drive, not only because I'm the better driver, but because I like to drive. But not now. Mike's going to be driving for a while because I feel like I'm cursed or something and going out driving with the mindset that "I'm gonna die" can't be helpful or healthy. I'm just a spazz. I had to drive the rental across town yesterday and was terrified. I feel so vulnerable right now, and I realize I shouldn't, but I do. I told Mike that maybe I'm just too damned exhausted to be driving right now.

On the way across town, we picked up my dented abused car. It's driveable with severe body damage, but it's my car. We both felt like we'd found a long lost friend, so we took our car to a car wash and lovingly washed, vacuumed and sponged it out. It looks beautiful, despite its oxidizing paint job. It felt clean and lovely. I love my car. I won't drive her for a while, but I do love her dearly.

I'm thinking about just staying home to work on Tuesdays and Thursdays when Mike can't drive to work, so I don't have to deal with driving--even if it's just for a couple weeks. I'm fried and frazzled and believe I'm about to become a devoted telecommuter. I don't want to drive.

I have thought about taking the bus, but there's not a convenient way to get to work from the buses here locally and I remember the nausea of sitting in the bus with the faint odor of diesel wafting about and sitting by the back opening door, so I could stick my head out at a given stop and puke in the gutter if necessary. Just the thought of riding a bus right now makes me turn various shades of green. Suffice it to say...I carpool three times a week. That's my contribution to reducing air pollution.

I could drive, but between the spinning car of death back in the fall and the past week, I don't feel safe or OK. I feel a little on super hormonal side, so Mike shall be the chauffeur until I'm done being freaked out.