Weeks like this I desperately miss public transportation. As an undergrad in NYC, I spent a large amount of time on the subway, commuting to internships and classes, going out with friends, or sometimes just exploring the city. When on my own, I would read a book (how I mastered reading standing up–a skill that is priceless as a parent). Now, when I make my 45 minutes drive home, I fantasize about being able to bury my head in a book rather than dodge trucks and read out of date bill boards.
Recently, I have been ever more frustrated because my car died and not in a “we can fix this” kind of way; it is a do not resuscitate way that has left me vehicle-free and driving my husband’s inherited SUV. I am grateful that we have the car, but I am so frustrated (as is my husband who is trying to find me a replacement) that so much of life requires independent transportation.
Times like this I wish not just to have public transportation; I wish I were Jessica Fletcher. Aside from her literary career, I would love to live and work in a town where my bicycle could be my primary mode of transportation (and when all else fails, friends to drive me elsewhere). I wish could honestly say, “I don’t know how to drive,” and could survive quite happily in that state for the rest of my life.
By this time next week I should have a replacement, slightly used car, procured for me by my hero husband with the help of my bestie Katie. And I will be grateful to have it. However, I will still continue to picture myself gliding through a picturesque town to the opening ditty of Murder, She Wrote.