Ancient Myths.

So I was thinking about two things yesterday: 1) how much better my life is now than when I was half my age 2) how drastically the world has changed since that time.

Because I'll need a topic for tomorrow, I may as well split these up, right?

In 1991, I drove a Chevy Citation that was covered in Grateful Dead decals and a COMPOST sticker that was meant as a noun for labeling of bins, but that I was using as a verb/suggestion/command (as in: I am an environmentally conscious individual and, like me, you really should...).

The washer fluid trigger hadn't worked since I bought it, and after a year or so of driving around with a bottle of generic Windex rolling around on my passenger side floor, and lurching out the window to spray any time I slowed to less than 20 MPH, my dad decided to fix it for me.

He did so as any practical/stingy person would do: with a standard light switch mounted to the dash. This worked, of course, but never once escaped the curiosity of new riders. (What is this for? Flip. Oh...weird.)

My one brag-worthy feature of this vehicle was that with the wide frame and hatchback, I could fold down the seats and transport a twin-sized mattress. This sounds way more romantic than it was, as my personal life was not just in shambles, but still smoldering from the carnage. The only pleasure associated with a bed in my back seat was that I was driving it to a new apartment where, presumably, life would suck less.

Did I mention that I worked as a waitress at a Chinese restaurant, then? The peculiarities of this particular chapter are so numerous that I'm not entirely sure where to start or stop. Their food was spectacular, though, and I gracelessly gained at least 10 pounds.

This was also the year that I decided to change my major (year four, mind you) but because I was actually all but finished, the only sensible thing to do was add on a minor. This is how you graduate college in just six short years!

And about midway through this 12-month experiment in living, I decided to become celibate. A born-again virgin, I think I called it. For about a year, as I recall. It was after (and likely because of) this that life became more placid. And the road ahead less cluttered with debris.

And there is more, but that's enough for today.