I am my car - my car is me

This is a disgruntled me, above, and my little red truck, which I was banned from driving last month for what the Ontario Ministry of Transportation told me would be 4 to 6 weeks, while I recuperated from my ministroke, and until the ministry got a letter from my nuerologist saying I was fit to drive again. I really had no beef with what happened...rules are rules.

4 to 6 weeks without driving is not an eternity. As it turned out, it just seemed like it. I had no idea how much my car is a part of who I am. It's a part of my identity and a huge part of everything I do. I am my car - my car is me, or so I thought. Actually, my car did just fine without me - and with my wife behind the wheel. She said my car was cheaper to drive because it runs on regular gas, while her older model runs on premium gas. I felt inconvenienced, held hostage, and totally dependent on someone else to go anywhere that my feet refused to go. I just kept reminding myself that if I had had a real, full-blown stroke, the resultant, life-altering disability would have been nighmarish. The money we saved on gas happened to coincide with the money I was saving on booze. I had also decided to become a teetotaller until my triglycerides went down.
While the photo above shows me sulking beside my trusty steed, the photo below shows Linda, in a totally uncommiserative mood, off on another jaunt in my little red Jeep. Thank God I am behind the wheel again. Some things should never be taken for granted.
BtheB