The other night, just before waking, I had an anxiety dream that I had gone and made an impulse purchase of a sporty compact, maybe a VW or something like a Honda Civic tricked out for performance, but I hadn't told Mary. And then, being impatient with the slow delivery of my order, I went into some other store (and in the universe of this dream, I could basically snap up a car on my credit card) and was buying another, wondering if I was going to end up with two of them.
And, in the back of my mind, I knew that I didn't really need a new car at all, because the Volvo was still fine, although there is a small issue with the fabric on the underside of the sunroof hanging down and looking crappy. I really need to get to Ace or Lowe's to get a fabric adhesive to help with that.
So yeah, I was nervous that I was blowing $ on car(s) I didn't need, without telling Mary, which is exactly the kind of crap my dad pulled all the time. He'd just show up with a 240Z or a custom Toyota convertible or an Alpha Romeo Spider and say to my mom: "Check this out."
And then, yesterday, towards the end of my run yesterday, I saw this little British racing green sports car being sold by the owner for $5500. I though it was a mid-60s Triumph of some sort, but really it was a Datsun 510. It was pretty badassed. I kept running.
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