twenty-something

After a busy week and a good Thursday night, I woke this morning, like much of New England, to a snow storm. It didn't look too bad when I left the house and hit the road, but it was. The roads were terrible and my car wasn't happy. It was so not happy, in fact, that within a mile of the house, while driving up a steep hill, it decided to simply stop working.

With my foot to the floor and a battle cry in my throat, I tried not to give up. It sputtered, spun, and inched its way to the crest of the hill. And then it decided it wasn't moving another foot.

A tow and a trip to Burlington's Volvo dealer later, I found out that new snow tires are going to cost $200 each. When totalled with the bigger problem -- something called an oxygen sensor -- the car's trip to the doctor is going to cost me well over $1,000 (and won't be ready until Tuesday). I don't know what that means for my planned New Year's vacation to the Big Apple, but I can only assume it's not good news.

This is why I don't like owning a car.

Perhaps my Volvo read my mind. For a couple weeks now, I've been thinking of rebelling against the station wagon and trading it in for something a more fun. Or perhaps-- another thought of recent weeks -- I should just ditch the car altogether and move some place with public transportation. Thanks for crapping out on me, car. One step closer to making a big, scary decision...