Driving becomes increasingly stressful

Yesterday was another driving day; I had to go up to the Costco in North Portland, so I got a car ("Elman," the Honda Element that lives next to the Hawthorne 7-Eleven) and, once again, tried to pack in as many errands as possible.

It's both challenging and stressful to try to get everything done in three hours. Fortunately, this time I had the safety net of being able to extend my reservation, which I did end up doing (30 minutes). I turned Elman in about 20 minutes early, but according to the website late fees start at $50, so $5 for the extra 10 minutes was worth it.

While I was at the pick-up readying the seat, mirrors, etc. for takeoff, a Zipcar employee pulled up behind me. She said she was just checking to make sure everything was okay; she was returning a car to it's rightful place down the street after the police found it abandoned in a no-loading zone up on 82nd. She said some people just leave the cars wherever. Apparently, those people don't intend to ever use the service again -- what are they thinking? I hope this is all business as usual for Zipcar and not another case of idiots making things difficult for the rest of us.

Anyway . . . while driving back from Costco I became aware that my stress level had been insidiously rising into pre-car-sale territory. The convenience of being able to cover several miles in a short time and effortlessly haul stuff around was overshadowed by the need to make split-second decisions about where to turn and which way to go; when you're moving at 45 to 65 mph, you don't have a lot of time to figure out where the hell you are before it becomes where you were. And the being-boxed-in thing . . . the air conditioning was sweet indeed, as it was 100 degrees outside, but with all the windows up (and the music on) I felt totally alienated from my surroundings. I had to leave a window open in the back just so I wouldn't feel entirely cut off.

This must be what it would feel like to be transported from horse and buggy days to 2008 -- "This dagnabbit contraption goes too durned fast! I tell ya, it just ain't nachural to be hurtlin' through space in this here big tin box with the world flyin' past in a blur! Ya cain't hear nuthin' that's goin' on around ya and ya cain't even tip yur hat to yur neighbor as you pass -- what the tarnation is this world comin' to?!"

With no AC at home we ended up prostrate on the couch with two fans running, trapped by lethargy into watching "Legally Blonde 2," easily one of the worst movies ever made. I won't even get into it. The point is that at 10 o'clock we finally had to haul ourselves up and walk to Fred's for cat food (it's bad enough to see their furry little bodies spread out like dead things across the kitchen floor, trying to maximize their skin-to-linoleum contact, but their pleading eyes and empty bellies are just too much). I still haven't gotten lights for Isabel's bike, so we had to hoof it.

Usually by 10:30 at night Fred's parking lot is a ghost town, but last night it was full. As we walked in the door we simultaneously exhaled a big "aaahhhhhh" of relief and began to melt into the air-conditioned goodness. Along with half the citizenry of Belthorne, I believe. At 11 o'clock there still wasn't a whole lot of action in the moving-toward-the-exit department . . .

But anyway, to finish this damn story -- the walk home was long, hot and exhausting. We were freaking miserable. My head and stomach hurt, Isabel kept stubbing her toe and walking into imaginary spider webs, we were both damp and overheated, and yet . . . I realized I would rather be walking than driving. Besides the fact we get to talk more (difficult in the car, where safety dictates that Isabel sit in the back), see more (all the neighborhood kitties, the full moon, and last week, a whole family of raccoons) and smell more (good and bad . . .), the pace is just more manageable and for me, entirely stress-free.

When I sold the Subaru I really thought I'd be buying another car in the not-too-distant future -- but now I wonder. In another year I may find driving altogether intolerable. Of course, I say that now . . . let's see what happens when the rain hits.