proof, in case any was necessary, of my complete and utter insanity

I just had such an odd experience that I feel compelled to write about it. (Though I'm assuming that what people will likely find odd is not the experience itself, but the whole context of my emotional attachment to a hunk of metal.)

Regardless.

I just donated my old car to PBS [actually, WGBH Boston] [and not THE old car; NOT The Cow] - no, my second old car, the one given to me four years ago by family friends, the one that needed a new windshield before I could drive it; the one that sat in Joel's driveway for months until I stopped pretending to my insurance company that I was still living in California, and was able to register it in NY; the one I at first resented because I felt forced by its free-ness and relative newness to accept it from these people and start driving it instead of The Cow; the one I drove with Peter and Sylvie to Kurt's wedding with Helmut's five sex-tents in the back; the one I drove to Mark and Janice's wedding and the brakes failed and I had to have them put in new brake lines right there in NJ, which then failed again when I got it back to NY, but I got them fixed again, but they failed again just after I'd completed a harrowing snowy journey to Jamie and Cheryl's, but I got them fixed the next day in PA, and drove back to NY, but then they failed again, but FINALLY stayed fixed, just in time for me to decide it was really time for me to buy a new(er) car, but of course just before I did that, the car decided it really needed a tune-up as well.

Anyway, this is the car I donated to PBS.

Despite what you might imagine, over the four years of constant repair, I had developed a real affection for the car, and I was having a terrible time giving it up; I was surprised by how terrible it was. But I finally made the decision, had my dad mail in the title (I just couldn't bring myself to do it), and they scheduled pickup for... well, that's the thing. The woman called on Tuesday and said they would pick it up "in the next day or two." And I didn't have to be there. That was good; I didn't want to stress out some tow truck driver by sobbing all over him.

So yesterday morning, I said my final farewells to the car, I took some photos. I drove off to work. I specifically did not go home for lunch, for fear of meeting up with the tow truck and having to witness the horrible and tragic last scene of the car receding from sight.

When I got home from work, I was almost scared to look in the driveway, but of course the car was still there. I felt almost... let down, somehow; it was all somewhat anti-climactic, but I was glad I had a chance to see it one last time.

This morning, I said goodbye for good, since I knew it had to happen today. Again, I didn't go home for lunch.

But when I got home from work at 6pm, there it was, still in the driveway. I cursed the PBS people for putting me through so much emotional trauma. I began wondering if they had misplaced my paperwork and had forgotten about the pickup altogether. I was dreading having to call them about it. Thankfully, I had a whole list of distracting stuff to do, which I did, and then I left the house again and drove out to the train yards and went for a walk, after which I went directly to my storage unit to pick up some camping equipment for this weekend.

And so here's where the strange experience starts: I knew, rationally, that the work day was long over, and that the car would most likely be picked up tomorrow; I mean, it had been almost 7pm when I'd left for the walk, and was now heading on towards 8. But as I was leaving the storage unit, I had this sudden feeling of freeness, of lightness, somehow. And a very specific sense of being (as it were) one car less. It felt exactly like when my cat died, and I had felt her energy slowly dissipating until I knew she wasn't in her body anymore. A feeling of something being finally over, finished. With the mixed relief and sadness that always comes with that.

I felt all this very strongly, and then I told myself that I was totally nuts, because of course the car had been in my driveway 45 minutes earlier when I'd left the house, and was obviously still in my driveway, and in fact might never (at the rate things were going) be picked up by any tow company ever.

Anyway, I drove home, and turned into the driveway... and saw that the car was gone.