When people ask me what kind of car I have (and, to be honest, I’m not asked a lot because I don’t typically hang with gear heads), I say, “A white one.” If they press me for more details, I tell them I know it’s an SUV and a Chevy. Inquiring beyond that will just get you a dumbfounded look from me. If I’m at a hotel or getting a parking pass at a place that insists on knowing the make of my car, I have to dig around in the glove box for my registration card or text my husband.
I just don’t care, people. It’s got an engine, four-wheel drive, four doors, a cup holder for my coffee, a heater, and a radio. I’m good.
Before the white one, I had Jimmy Blue (because, yeah, it was a GMC Jimmy and it was blue). I was sad to see Jimmy Blue go. Not because I cared about it or it had a cool name or because I brought my babies home from the hospital in it, but because it had become a piece-of-shit car and there’s a true freedom in that.
Kids spilled their ketchup-drenched fries all over the backseat? Meh. Guy throws his car door into yours at the mall? No worries, buddy. Hit a concrete pole a the absurdly skinny ATM drive thru? (laugh). Potholes? Psshhh….whatever.
But old Jimmy Blue started costing us too much money at the shop (which I’m positively certain had nothing to do with my refusal to move over for any stupid potholes) and we had to buy a new one.
And, then Dan was out there washing it all the time, and telling me how I have to keep it nice. And don’t park too close to other people at the store. And the kids can’t eat in the car. And I should try not to hit potholes and cement poles. And…gah…what a pain in the ass.
A few months ago, after much whining and couple years of not-so-subtle campaigning, he bought a new pickup truck.
Now he has a new car to baby and obsess over and my white SUV, with 106,000 miles on it, is out of the spotlight and quickly becoming the piece-of-shit car I’ve always wanted.
Sing it with me (NSFW lyrics….lots of F-bombs):
About Just Write: Just Write is my adaptation of free writing, a technique in which a person writes continuously and quickly without little regard for spelling, grammar, or topic. It helps writers overcome blocks of apathy and explore everything from meaningful topics to mundane observations with the same effort and without the pressure of crafting perfect prose. I just start writing.
“What ends up revealing itself when free writing is that everything has meaning. That is a magnificent gift of writing. If we write from a free heart-gut place, our souls start speaking.”